


Just A Couple Of Boys From Brooklyn IV: There Was Summer

by BradyGirl_12



Series: Just A Couple Of Boys From Brooklyn [4]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Angst, Big Bang Challenge, Challenge Response, Challenges, Drama, Established Relationship, Historical, M/M, Male Slash, Marvel Universe Big Bang, Marvel Universe Big Bang 2016, Series, Slash, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-23 07:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8319010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/pseuds/BradyGirl_12
Summary: After what Bucky Barnes did to his parents, how can Tony ever reconcile that with Bucky being Steve’s oldest friend?  An inexplicable trip to the past may provide the answer.





	1. The Taste Of Grief

**Author's Note:**

> Series Notes: Any ideas that pop up about the boys in their early days will end up under this umbrella title. Skinny!Steve and Protective!Bucky for the win! ;) The entire series can be found [here.](http://bradygirl-12.livejournal.com/928731.html)  
> Genres: Angst, Drama, Historical  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Fanworker: The talented [Taibhrigh](http://taibhrigh.livejournal.com)! :) Link: [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8443069)  
> Fanworker: The superb [Dulcetine](http://dulcetine.livejournal.com)! :) Link: [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8506648)  
> Beta: The marvelous [Starsandsea](http://starsandsea.livejournal.com)! :) All mistakes are my own.  
> Warnings: (Ch. 2 & 4: Violence)  
> Spoilers: _Captain America 1: The First Avenger (2011), Captain America 2: The Winter Soldier (2014)_ and _Captain America 3: Civil War (2016)._  
>  Original LJ Dates Of Completion: May 5, 2016-September 3, 2016  
> Original LJ Dates Of Posting: November 8/9, 2016  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Marvel and Paramount do, more’s the pity.  
> Original LJ Word Count: 27,327  
> Feedback welcome and appreciated.  
> Author’s Notes: Written for the 2016 [Marvel_Bang](http://marvel-bang.livejournal.com). You need not have read the previous installments to enjoy this story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony drowns in a sea of loneliness and grief.

  
_‘Tis bitter,_  
_The taste of grief,_  
_Like coffee,_  
_Laced with_  
_Chicory,_  
_As the hand_  
_Trembles_  
_Lifting the cup._  


  


**Richard Atten**  
**"The Gray Sky"**  
**1941 C.E.**

The silence closed in around him. Tony Stark was unaccustomed to silence. He surrounded himself with noise, whether heavy metal blaring at ear-splitting decibels or people rushing in and out of his presence with any manner of distraction.

He sometimes wondered if he liked the chaos so that he would not have to be alone with himself and his thoughts. Thinking about inventions was fine. Thinking about his own company was a different story.

He was supposed to be a futurist. Look forward, not to the past. Because his past? Littered with screw-ups and refuse from a lifetime of both. If it wasn’t the Merchant of Death it was Ultron. All weapons, all deadly.

_The Avengers were supposed to fix all that. No more screw-ups._

He stared gloomily out the window of his Tower at the Chrysler Building. Maybe he should move back to the Mansion. No memories of the Avengers there. No romantic ones of Pepper from those days. But his parents’ presence was all over the place. It was hard enough to deal with that, but after…he abruptly stood up from the couch and strode to the bar, pouring a glass of whiskey.

The liquor burned down his throat as he tried to ignore the silence. The team had moved to a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility upstate after Ultron, but Tony had assured them they could stay here in the Tower whenever they were in the city.

He poured another drink. His hand shook as he lifted the glass to his lips. He tasted the whiskey and suddenly slammed the glass down onto the bar. The taste made his stomach turn.

Steve had been right. Oversight of the Avengers by the United Nations would have been a disaster. By the time the diplomats had finished debating whether or not to activate the Avengers, the bad guys would have succeeded with their plot.

_The Government treated my friends like criminals, put them in a prison designed for supervillains, not superheroes._

The Sokovia Accords had tried to fix the problem of civilian deaths, but the bad guys never cared about innocent people. Heroes had to stop them, and sometimes people got hurt or worse. It was definitely a problem, but the Accords were a poor fix.

Tony rubbed his shoulder. He had accumulated quite a few aches and pains during the recent battles. Especially the last fight.

He downed the whiskey in a single gulp. That ancient film of his parents’ murders was seared into his brain. The Winter Soldier had killed them.

How could he process that? His friend Steve’s oldest friend had killed his parents. Yes, he was brainwashed, but his parents’ assassin was alive and enjoying his old friend’s company while his parents’ bones rotted in the ground. There was no justice in this world.

_I can’t just go merrily along and forget what Barnes did._

The sky outside the Tower was a light blue with clouds drifting by. The weather app on his Starkphone predicted a storm later.

The silence grew too oppressive. It was time for his daily visit to Rhodey.

The military facility in upstate New York had been adapted for use by the Avengers after the Ultron events. Tony pushed away the memory of his disappointment at the headquarters move from his Tower. He supposed it was for the better, but he missed the Tower being full of friends and teammates.

_Of course, there is no team anymore, and I’ve got no friends and teammates except for Rhodey._

Tony parked his Jaguar in the parking lot, seeing Steve’s motorcycle in one of the slots. He walked to the shiny entrance doors and signed in at the reception desk. He walked through several corridors, taking a left and a right until he reached a bank of elevators. The elevator ride was smooth and deposited him on the medical floor.

Hospitals were alike no matter where they were located. There was always the air of quiet efficiency interspersed with antiseptic smells. 

He had experienced more than his share of hospitals since Afghanistan. The doctors had puzzled over the arc reactor, and only Tony’s ability to throw his weight around as only a rich man could get him out of their clutches. After the arc reactor had been removed, he had tolerated the poking and prodding, but only for so long.

Walking through the halls of the rehabilitation wing, he was back in that quiet, antiseptic world, and he was unhappy about it. He nodded to a passing nurse and reached Room 602.

Rhodey was in bed, flipping the pages of a magazine. He looked tired, but that was Situation Normal these days. Arduous physical therapy drained him, not to mention pain that only strong doses of medication could alleviate. The room was filled with cards, flowers and balloons, one of which Tony poked casually as he sauntered in.

“Hiya, Rhodester.”

“Hey there, Mr. Stank.”

Tony winced. Damn that doddering old deliveryman! His misreading of ‘Stark’ on the paperwork would plague Tony to infinity and beyond, as Buzz Lightyear would say.

“How did therapy go?”

“Okay. My therapist says I’m making good progress.”

“Great.” Tony looked out the window. “Nice view.”

“You say that every time.” Rhodey put aside the magazine onto the nightstand. “Does the pastoral view make you nervous?”

“I do prefer a view of skyscrapers.”

“Trees can be very soothing.”

Tony snorted as he sat in the one chair in the room. “Don’t go all New Age on me.”

“Didn’t Natasha teach you about tree spirits?”

“So she went undercover in a Wiccan coven once! Does that make her an expert?”

Tony could feel Rhodey’s eyes on him. The problem with old friends was that they knew you too well.

“What are you thinking about?” 

“That leave it to Steve Rogers not to get in touch with me by text or e-mail but by letter.”

Rhodey laughed. “Sounds like Steve.”

“Such elegant handwriting, you know? Probably the Palmer Method.”

Tony deliberately did not mention the postmark and Rhodey didn’t ask. It was better that way. Nothing to tell his superiors.

“He apologizes.”

_For a lot of things._

“Well, that’s a start.” Rhodey sounded pleased. “That sounds like Steve. He knows he went waaay off the reservation on this one.”

“He didn’t apologize for his stance.”

“Of course not.” At Tony’s surprised expression, Rhodey laughed. “He isn’t going to apologize for his stand unless he changed his mind about that. I’d expect apologies for hurting you and stretching your friendship to the breaking point. _That’s_ Steve.”

Tony grimaced. “What makes you think it’s not broken?”

Rhodey shrugged. “Is it?”

Tony rubbed his face. “I don’t know.”

“Bucky’s always going to be in the picture,” Rhodey said softly.

“Yeah.” Tony’s tone was bitter.

“Bucky is his oldest friend. Now that Peggy’s gone, Bucky is the only link to his past.”

“Sure.” The words grated on Tony, but it wasn’t Rhodey’s fault. He hadn’t told him about the fight in Siberia, or the reason why. It was all too raw.

“It’s like us…”

“It’s _not!”_

Rhodey blinked in confusion. He took a sip of icewater from his glass on the nightstand. “Something you not telling me?”

Tony abruptly stood. “Just that it all went to hell sooner than I thought it would.”

“Isn’t that always the way?”

The wind was blowing through the trees as the light blue of the sky turned a light gray. There were no birds singing outside Rhodey’s window. Damn, he wanted a cigarette. Pepper wasn’t around to disapprove.

Still, he had not smoked since the arc reactor had become a part of him. Even after its removal, he had kept himself smoke-free. Unfortunately, the craving was still there.

“Looks like a storm is brewing,” Rhodey observed.

“Yeah, it’s been predicted.” Tony picked up the magazine. “Pretty old school. Let me get you a new Stark Tablet and you can read hundreds of stories.”

“Old school aren’t dirty words, you know.”

“You going all Captain America on me?”

Rhodey grinned. “Is that so bad?”

Tony tossed the magazine on the bed. “It’s a brave new world where the old ways don’t work anymore.”

Rhodey looked skeptical. “Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.”

A gust of wind blew against the windows, rattling the glass. Tony frowned.

“Guess you’d better get back to town.” Rhodey sounded tired.

“Yeah, looks like I’d better.” Tony clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You keep up the good work.”

“You know I will.”

Tony smiled. “See you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here.”

Tony wandered the living room of the Tower with a full glass of whiskey. He staggered slightly and the drink sloshed over the rim of the champagne flute. He felt the warmth of an alcoholic glow, a state of being he was very familiar with.

The sky was dark from the approaching storm, flashes of lightning arcing over the city. The clouds came in fast and rain began to fall. The living room lit up with a series of lightning flashes as thunder rumbled, rolling over the Tower like a gigantic wave of sound. He opened the balcony door and tottered out onto the concrete balcony.

Tony lifted his face toward the sky, the cool rain stinging his skin and drenching his clothes. The whiskey was spilling out of his glass and he staggered to the railing.

 _Wonder if all this is just Thor making a grand entrance_.

He laughed and hiccupped, jumping as a loud crack of thunder shook the balcony.

_Steve’s betrayal hurt you, Rhodey. All For Barnes. Always for Barnes._

Tony staggered out onto the ramp, falling to his knees as he drank his watered-down whiskey. Rage was boiling up inside him as the windswept rain buffeted his body. He stared up at the sky as he howled his rage just as a jagged blast of lightning sizzled down from the heavens and struck him.

Nothing was left.


	2. Encounter In An Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finds himself in a strange new world.

  
_Always_  
_The twain_  
_Shall meet._  


  


**Derek Stilson**  
**"Time Waits For No Man"**  
**2016 C.E.**

Tony awoke, wincing as he stretched sore limbs.

_I must have really tied one on last night._

He rubbed his temples as he felt his stomach roll. Damn! Hangovers were the worst. Always a payback for good times!

His nose wrinkled as he smelled the faint odor of smoke. Had he indulged in a cigarette after all? He opened his eyes and frowned.

_Where am I?_

The room was shabby with peeling wallpaper and cheap furniture. This was not the Tower. 

He sat up and held his head. He must be hallucinating! Man, he ought to stop drinking. The hangovers were getting weirder and weirder. His head was pounding and parts of his body felt numb: his fingertips, toes, and his right shoulder. Just weird.

He squinted at the window. Sounds of car horns came up from the street. He was still in the city, then.

Slightly nauseous, he decided to see if he could find a radio station that played cool jazz. He would keep the volume low and attempt to relax.

He got off the bed and dragged the one chair over to the small table that held the radio in the corner. It was designed to look old-fashioned and he had to actually turn knobs to get anything.

After five minutes, he was frowning. Was this Nostalgia Day across the board? All he was getting was ‘30s/’40s swing music and old ads. On every station!

His head was too muddled to figure this out. He left the radio on a station playing swing and rubbed his face. He stretched back out onto the bed and closed his eyes. If he was lucky, his hangover would feel at least a little better after a nap. He fell asleep to the sounds of Benny Goodman and the honking of car horns from the street below.

_…little brown jug.”_

Tony groaned as consciousness returned. His head was still pounding but not as bad as before. He opened his eyes to stare at the nondescript ceiling.

_"That was Glenn Miller and **Little Brown Jug.** Stay with us, cats, as we give you a little news of the world. From Washington, President Roosevelt declared that he was planning to send a new bill up to Capitol Hill…"_

_President **Roosevelt?**_

Tony stared at the radio. The announcer threw in a few more items from the capital, then started on world news.

_“There are rumblings from European capitals that the Munich Agreement which Great Britain signed with Germany a year ago is going to break apart due to German aggression, but 10 Downing Street insists that the Agreement is still holding strong. As British Prime Minister Chamberlain said in September of 1938, we expect ‘peace for our time’.”_

“Okay, this is just crazy,” Tony muttered. He staggered off the bed and looked out the window at the street down below. His jaw dropped. 

Cars glided by, looking like something out of an old gangster film with running boards and gleaming black paint. People walked by leisurely, men in double-breasted suits and fedoras and women in dresses with shoulder pads and smart hats over elaborately-coiffed hair. Boys in short pants ran down the sidewalk carrying stickball bats while girls in floral dresses and saddle shoes pushed doll carriages. 

Tony blinked several times, then his eyes sparked with anger. “Fury!” he growled. 

He remembered Steve’s story about waking up from the ice in a ‘40s-style hospital room with a _Dodgers_ baseball game playing on the radio. Unfortunately, Fury had selected a game that Steve _had attended,_ and knew something was up. He started for the door with a head of steam but suddenly slowed down like a wind-up toy losing momentum. 

_elaborate ruse? HYDRA was scattered to the winds, but was this a remnant of the fascist organization trying to psyche him out? Or was Thunderbolt Ross returning to form and up to something?_

All these questions raced through his head as he turned the doorknob and stepped out into the hall. 

The hallway was ordinary with slightly shabby wallpaper and a well-worn wooden floor that lead to a dark wood staircase. Tony headed straight for it and descended the steps, crossing a short foyer to the front door. An old-fashioned parlor branched off to the right. No one was in it. He opened the door. 

The quiet of the brownstone disappeared as the sounds of outdoor life rushed in at him: car horns honking, kids shouting, and peddlers pushing carts while singing out their wares. Tony was nearly mesmerized by all the old-fashioned clothes and glanced down at his own outfit. He was wearing brown cuffed pants held up by suspenders and a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The top button was undone and showed his undershirt. He blended in with the crowd.

He put a hand up to his chin. Why all the elaborate playacting, costuming and sets? Who had brought him here and set all this up?

He decided on a walk to clear his head. Noting the number of the brownstone, he set off at a leisurely pace with his hands in his pockets. People passed him by as they went about their business. Snatches of conversation reached his ears. Most of the accents were New York, mixed in with Italian, Polish, and Jewish accents. A few spoke fluent Italian and Polish.

_The New York accent sounds…Brooklyn?_

His journey took him down blocks lined with brownstones. People occasionally sat on the stoops, smoking or talking. A few drank bottles of Coke or Pepsi, and one man in a worn undershirt and pants drank from a beer bottle.

The weather was warm, and the intensity of the sun suggested summer, which matched the time of year he had left in 2016.

_It’s still 2016. Don’t be fooled by this dog-and-pony show._

He would almost believe it a hex by Wanda, but she was with Steve and the rest of the dissident Avengers far away. Besides, Wanda had no reason to make him think he was in the past.

_The detail is amazing._

The bottles of soft drinks were the classic shapes and made of glass, and the hairstyles on people were genuine. Too often a production set in the past seemed to neglect hairstyles and kept a contemporary look instead of the past era. Men wore their hair slicked back with pomade or cut very short, and women wore heavily-stylized coifs that required more than just a few minutes with a hair iron or a short visit to the beauty parlor. 

He loved the cars. They were not quite as big as the cars of the ‘50s would be when Detroit reigned supreme in a postwar world, but they were more solid than modern cars of the next century, gleaming with hood ornaments and solid craftsmanship, including handy running boards. They were beautiful machines and he hoped he could get a close look at one before he went back home.

He appreciated the attention to detail. As an engineer, details were important.

He wondered if this ruse had something to do with the Sokovia Accords mess. Life had been pretty good before everything blew up. He thought he had a solid friendship with Steve.

 _It was true. We had forged a real friendship, one I was proud of._ He kept up a steady walking pace. _I guess that’s why it hurt so much when you took the other side, Steve. Why are you always so certain you’re right?_

Tony remembered the good times he had shared with Steve once they had established their friendship. Steve could drink anyone under the table since his accelerated metabolism didn’t allow him to get drunk. Tony had a drinking buddy who could drive him home.

_Steve literally had war stories to tell._

Some of the stories involved Tony’s father, but Tony discovered that he wanted to hear them. Steve didn’t know about his complicated relationship with Howard, so Steve related his stories, making Tony’s pain over his father’s loss even worse. 

“Damn,” Tony said softly.

He had walked to a seedier area of the borough without realizing it. The crowds had thinned out, and there were more people drinking from bottles in paper bags before noon on stoops that looked shabbier and shabbier. Tony decided to turn around and head back to his brownstone, suddenly uneasy.

The clatter of a garbage can attracted his attention as he passed an alley. Tony hesitated. Should he investigate?

_Probably a cat._

Just as he was about to start walking, he heard a loud thump. Sighing, he entered the alley.

It was gloomy even in the brightness of day. Tony cautiously picked his way down the alley, trying to avoid strewn garbage. Fortunately his shoes didn’t seem of the best quality. 

He saw the source of the disturbance. A big, hulking guy was towering over a shorter, skinny guy. The hulk’s back was to Tony and he couldn’t see the shorter man’s face as the hulk ( _Sorry, Bruce_ ) was cutting off Tony’s line of sight. In the end, he didn’t need to see the skinny guy’s face. He just had to hear his voice.

“I can do this all day.”

The voice was wheezing and stubborn and all Steve Rogers.

 _Why should I be surprised?_ Tony almost facepalmed. _**Of course** a simulation back in the ‘40s would include Steve._

The bully pulled his arm back, ready for a pulverizing punch, but Tony grasped his fist and squeezed while his other hand aimed for the big man’s neck, landing a karate-style chop on thick skin. The man howled in pain, turning to face his attacker.

Tony briefly wished for his armor but kept his concentration on the fight. Ironically, he was using moves taught to him by Steve. He was able to avoid a huge fist and plant one of his own in the jerk’s solar plexus. The bully let out a whoosh of air and doubled over, letting loose a string of curses. Tony was impressed by the variety of words and chopped the man’s neck again, bringing him to his knees.

Suddenly a garbage can lid flew through the air and clocked the bully on the head. The bully toppled to the alley ground like a redwood tree.

The sound of labored breathing filled the alley. Tony knew the feeling, having suffered shortness of breath when the arc reactor was embedded in his chest.

Steve was doubled over trying to draw in air, his hands resting on his shaking knees. His blond hair hung over his eyes but the determination was pure Steve.

“Th…thanks, fella.” Steve’s wheezing was painful to listen to, and Tony approached him with his hand out. Steve’s shoulders shuddered as he began to cough.

Tony held his shoulders during the coughing fit. Even though he had seen pictures of pre-Serum Steve, he was still shocked by how frail he was. Steve’s shoulders were bony beneath his hands.

_What the hell is going on here?_

S.H.I.E.L.D. or the U.S. Government would not have de-serumed Steve just for this fakery. And why would Steve consent to all this?

 _They wouldn’t. Face it, Stark, we have Hulks and gods in our world now and invaders from freakin’ outer space. Is time travel so farfetched?_

No, it wouldn’t be, he admitted as Steve struggled to control his breathing. The question he had left was how? And maybe an additional question of why?

Next Steve began to cough, but his fit was brief and he finally rasped, “Please help me up?”

Tony did and bolstered a swaying Steve. He hoped that he was keeping the shock off his face as he got a close-up look of Steve with his sunken eyes, bony physique, and constant wheezing.

_Man, the Serum was a godsend for you._

“What was Bully Boy all upset about?” Tony asked.

“Oh, nothing in particular. He just doesn’t like runts.”

Tony was startled at the matter-of-fact way Steve spoke about being beaten up. He nudged the unconscious bully with his foot, wishing he could do more mayhem. 

“Thanks, I think I’ll head for home now," Steve said.

“Let me come with you.”

“Thanks, but that’s not necessary.”

“Hey, I got nothing better to do.”

Steve arched an eyebrow but said, “Okay.”

They slowly left the alley and blinked in the sunlight. Steve said, “This way.”

Tony stayed close but kept his hands in his pockets. He well knew Steve’s stubborn pride and understood it, especially pre-Serum. They walked in companionable silence, Tony marveling how comfortable they seemed to be together.

Steve was so _tiny!_ Tony seemed to tower over his companion, which was the reverse of their usual dynamic.

The surroundings were still strange to him but Steve was familiar. He watched as his companion walked with a bit of difficulty, bruised and battered and fighting his cough. 

_Stubborn to the end!_

They reached a section of Brooklyn that was undeniably shabby but somehow seemed to escape the seediness of the neighborhood where Steve had gotten into trouble. Steve greeted people sitting on the stoops, most of whom smiled back at him. A few ignored him, but who knew about people, Tony thought.

Steve stopped in front of a brownstone with No. 66 on the front. “Thanks for the help.”

“Glad to do it.”

Tony was uncertain how to plausibly lengthen this encounter. He doubted that Steve would accept Tony helping him up the steps in front of everybody. He would just have to contrive another meeting in the future, so to speak.

Steve solved his problem. “Wouldja like to come in?”

“Ah, sure.”

Tony followed Steve up the steps into a brave new world.


	3. Apartment 304

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony sees how Steve lives in this long-ago time.

  
_They speak_  
_Of cabbages_  
_And kings,_  
_But for_  
_The poor,_  
_Kings are_  
_Rare_  
_But cabbages_  
_Are forever._  


  


**Henry Cobblestone**  
**"The Other Half Eats Cabbage"**  
**1890 C.E.**

The hall was similar to the one in the brownstone Tony had awakened in: shabby but not dirty, the wallpaper beginning to peel and the carpet having seen better days, but it was far from decaying. Perhaps the landlord of this building sent in a cleaning crew every so often, because the lobby’s floor was worn but clean.

Tony’s nose twitched. The smell of cabbage was strong. He remembered reading that poor tenements always smelled like cabbage because it was cheap. Steve probably ate a lot of cabbage.

They trudged up to the third floor, Tony grimacing at the close, oppressive heat in the halls. Someone had opened a window at the end of the second floor, but there was no cool breeze to enjoy.

It was slow going as Steve gripped the railing, each step slow but determined. Tony felt pained just watching him. He marveled at the strength of courage and endurance his friend exhibited on a daily basis in this era. Finally they stopped in front of a door labeled 304 at the very end of the hall. Steve fumbled for the key in his pants pocket and unlocked the door.

Tony was not surprised by the cramped shabbiness of the apartment. The living room held two uncomfortable-looking straight-backed chairs, an old couch with a faded green/blue pattern, and a chipped coffee table stacked with a pile of books. A good-sized Philco radio was set on an end table at the left end of the couch. A lamp with a pale violet shade and black tassels was set on a second end table to the right of couch. 

Tony caught a glimpse into the kitchen, surprised at the absence of brown patterned wallpaper as he had seen in the halls and this living room. Instead it was painted in pale yellow and the white curtains were ruffled at the single window. He could see a chair that was probably part of the dining set, and the cabinets were a light wood.

“Would you like a Coke? We’ve got a few bottles left,” Steve offered.

“Thanks, I am kinda thirsty.”

“Sure is a scorcher,” Steve said from the kitchen a minute later. “Would you like some bread? It’s homemade. My neighbor Mrs. Murphy baked it.”

“Sounds good.”

Tony sat on the couch, noting how old the piece of furniture was, at least twenty years or more. Still, at least the springs weren’t protruding. He could hear Steve moving around in the kitchen.

There was a stack of books on the coffee table. All of them were library books except for a large book on Greek art. Tony opened it and carefully flipped through pages that featured marble sculptures and painted vases and urns.

He smiled. In this era, the love which Steve and Bucky shared had to be cloaked in euphemisms. ‘Greek love’ was a time-honored traditional cover.

“Here we go.” Steve brought in a tray of refreshments, simple but effective. He set the tray on the coffee table and sat next to his guest. “I thought you wouldn’t mind drinking out of the bottle.”

“I don’t.” Steve had twisted off the caps and Tony took a swallow, glad the drink was cold. He was also glad that the Coke tasted exactly as it did in his own century. Apparently Classic Coke was timeless. 

On the tray were two plates with thick slices of bread. Steve’s slice was buttered and a dish of butter was on the tray, along with a small pot of strawberry jam. Tony picked up the tiny spoon and scooped some jam onto his bread. He took a bite.

“Mmm, very good.”

“I’m pretty lucky.”

Tony took another bite, not sure how to answer that. Despite Tony’s knowledge of it, Steve’s poverty was shocking to someone who had grown up in the lap of luxury.

“I hope the heat wave will break soon,” said Steve, running a hand through his hair. His face was shiny with sweat, and Tony felt the same. He dearly wished for some air-conditioning. “Are you in town long?” 

“I’m not sure.” _Ain’t **that** the truth!_ “I haven’t been too well lately.”

Empathy showed on Steve’s drawn face. “It’s always worse in the heat.”

“Yeah, it’s brutal.” Tony took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Man, you could fry an egg on the sidewalk.”

“The kids will be opening the fire hydrants up soon.”

Tony laughed. “Kids never change.” He finished his Coke. The bottle was considerably smaller than the 2016 version. “Where’s the bathroom? Down the hall?”

“Actually, I’ve got one here in the apartment.”

Tony was surprised. Buildings like this usually only had one bathroom per floor.

“The landlord before the current one started to put bathrooms in the units but ran out of money. He sold the building to Mr. Merkel, who rented the four apartments with bathrooms at a higher rate. Mom and Dad moved in before the war and at the time could afford the extra rent. They liked the idea of the privacy.” Steve stood up. “I’ll get us some refills.” He laughed. “It’s the size of a closet, by the way.”

“But private!”

“Very.”

Tony laughed as he followed Steve’s directions into a short hallway. There were two very small bedrooms and what Tony would consider a literal water closet.

_Steve wasn’t kidding when he said the bathroom was the size of a closet!_

He could barely close the door behind him, but somehow a shower stall had been squeezed in. He did his business and washed his hands, noting in the mirror that his goatee was gone but his mustache trimmed to a pencil thinness. His hair was thicker than current fashion but slicked back in the proper style. He was uncomfortably reminded of his father from the old family photos.

He sidled out of the bathroom and realized that only one bedroom was in use, giving him an idea. He sauntered back into the living room.

“Say, I’m going to be in New York for awhile, though not permanently ( _at least I hope not_ ) and my one-room flop is kinda depressing. Do you rent out that extra bedroom?”

“You’ve got a job?” 

Tony thought fast. “I’m doing research for a new encyclopedia. Spend a lot of time at the library.”

“I do, too.”

Tony guessed that Steve’s precarious health made it difficult for him to hold a job. Did the New Deal help the clinically ill with some kind of financial assistance?

“I’ll have to check with Bucky.”

“Is he your brother?” Tony kept his voice carefully neutral.

“My roommate. He works on the docks and brings home the bacon. I keep the place clean and do piecework when I can here at home.”

“Well, if he’s okay with it, I’d like to contribute right away to the rent and groceries.”

“What’s your phone number?” Steve asked.

“Um, I just took my room. Haven’t used the phone yet.” Tony recalled seeing a phone mounted on the wall downstairs and figured his rooming house would have the same set-up. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Come by tomorrow. Noon all right? I’ll have an answer for you then.”

“Sounds good.” Tony returned to the couch. He picked up the frosty Coke. “Let’s toast to positive thinking that your buddy will be okay with me coming aboard.”

They clinked bottles and Steve said, “I like that. Positive thinking it is!”

Tony left after finishing his Coke and a second slice of bread. He had some things to check, hoping that Barnes would be amenable to a new temporary roommate. First he bought a newspaper from a kid at the corner, using change he had found in his pants pocket. The kid was wearing a brown newsboy cap, faded yellow shirt and ragged brown knickers. The shoes and socks had seen better days. Tony gave double the price of the paper.

“Keep the change, kid.”

“Gee, thanks, Mister!”

Tony sauntered over to an empty stoop and read the date: **August 16, 1939.**

_So not quite the ‘40s._

He quickly read through the front-page stories, catching up on current events. The Depression was still hanging on and Europe was a mess. The Continent was technically at peace but gearing for war as sabers rattled incessantly. He dreaded to think what news in the Far East looked like as the Japanese had invaded China a long time ago.

Tony folded the paper and set off for the brownstone he remembered waking up in. After a few false turns, he found it and went upstairs. He jingled the change in his pocket. Someone had provided him with money. Maybe loose change wasn’t all that was provided?

He tossed the newspaper on the bed and opened the dresser drawers. Three pairs of socks, four pairs of clean-yet-slightly-frayed underwear, two white shirts. He crossed over to the closet and found a second pair of pants and a suit jacket. A battered brown valise was on the closet floor. He took it out and put it on the bed, unsnapping the locks and throwing back the lid.

Empty.

“Never let it be said that Tony Stark was not persistent.”

He searched the valise and found a wad of money in the lining. He counted it and was pleased to find fifty dollars, more than enough to keep him free from money worries for a good, long while. Fifty dollars in 1939 was practically a King’s ransom.

He put the valise away with the money and stretched out on the bed to read the newspaper.

_Time to get well-informed like a man of the late ‘30s._


	4. Moving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony moves in with Steve and Bucky.

  
_Time to start_  
_The journey_  
_Of a thousand miles._  


  


**Antonelle Silvera**  
**"Red Carnations**  
**And Other Poems"**  
**1922 C.E.**

Tony arrived at Steve’s brownstone at five minutes to noon. He carried his valise, the smug Stark confidence paramount as he jogged up the steps.

He knocked on the door of 304, heard Steve’s footsteps and shoved the valise a little further down the hall.

“Hi, Steve,” he said as the door was opened.

“Hi, Tony.”

“Am I in?”

Steve grinned. “Yes.”

“Great!” Tony grabbed his valise. “All set.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Confident, aren’t ya?”

“Gotta be in this world.”

“I like your way of thinking.” Steve waved his hand. “Come on in, roomie.”

Tony sauntered in and Steve escorted him to his bedroom. “Sorry for the frills. This was my mother’s room.”

“It’s okay. Compared to my flop, this is heaven, frilly lampshades and all.”

Steve grinned. “Come on in the kitchen when you’re done unpacking. I’ll have lunch ready by then.”

“Great. Oh, hey…” Tony dug into his jacket pocket and held out a wad of bills. “My share of the month’s rent.”

“The month’s half over.”

“So take half. And there’s September’s rent in there, too. Keep all of the money. Groceries.”

“We sure picked a good roommate.”

“Glad Bucky agreed.”

“I vouched for you. Said you were a good guy.”

“You’re pretty trusting.” Tony opened his valise. “I don’t have much to unpack.”

“Join the club.” Steve left the room.

Tony lifted out his pants, wincing at the wrinkles. His shirts could use pressing, too.

“Well, I can’t send out for pressing. Too extravagant,” he muttered. “Hey, Steve, do you have an iron?” he called.

“Yep! C’mon in the kitchen.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

He put away his socks and underwear in the dresser drawer, smiling at the frilly yellow lampshades and the crystal ashtray that Steve’s mother had probably used to store bobby pins. He saw a gold-framed photograph on the dresser, a wedding picture of Steve’s parents.

Steve’s father was blond and Steve closely resembled him. The elder Rogers had a charming smile and his arm around his new bride, also blond and extremely pretty. Dressed in pre-World War I style, they were happy as any couple should be on their wedding day.

Tony felt an ache, remembering another wedding photograph of a young couple in early ‘60s fashions, and he hoped his parents had been as happy as Steve’s parents on their special day.

He quietly shut the drawers and brought his clothes to the kitchen. Steve had taken out the ironing board from a small closet. The iron rested on the board with a dangling cord.

“It’ll have to warm up once you plug in, but keep your eye on it. The cord’s old and we don’t want a fire starting.” Steve smiled. “I hope lettuce-and-tomato sandwiches are okay.” He had the fixings on the counter. 

“That’s fine.”

“Mayo?”

Tony almost said, “Light mayo” but realized that was anachronistic. “Sure.”

He plugged in the cord and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. The kitchen’s yellow walls made a cheerful setting. The Formica table and chairs were a little battered but clean.

“After lunch we can go get some groceries. The icebox is a little empty.”

“Sure.”

“Will you be going to the library today?”

Tony shook his head. “Starting tomorrow.”

Steve carefully held the knife as he sliced the tomatoes. His hands shook slightly, but he had complete control. He reached into the icebox for a jar of mayonnaise.

“Wonder if this heat wave will ever end?” asked Tony, his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back. He decided to try the iron and carefully put it on his shirt, ironing out the wrinkles.

_If Jarvis could see me now!_

“Better speed it up a little. You’re going to scorch that shirt.”

Tony was chagrined. Here he thought he had been doing so well!

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” Steve put the sandwiches and mayonnaise jar in the icebox after finishing the former. “Once you’re finished ironing, we can eat.” He coughed, the sound hollow.

Tony found his stomach muscles tightening at the sound of that cough. If Steve had not been give the Super-Soldier Serum, how long would he have lived? Tony draped the shirt over a kitchen chair and started on the second one.

“Who did your ironing before? Your mom?”

Tony carefully set aside the pain as he thought of his mother. “Um, no, my girlfriend would do it for me after I left home.”

“That was nice of her.” Steve washed the knife and cutting board he had used.

“Yeah, Pep…Pep was a peach.”

Steve opened the icebox again. “Almost bare as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. Good thing for your grocery money. We’ll have to have water with our sandwiches.”

“Fine by me.”

When Tony finished his ironing and the two roommates sat down at the kitchen table, he stared at the glass of water in front of him. Tap water, not bottled.

_You aren’t in Kansas anymore, Tony._

_Henkel’s Greengrocer_ was filled with boxes of cereal, Hostess cupcakes, packages of Wonder bread, and any food item that was non-perishable. The roommates already had bags of freshly-baked bread from _Nelson’s Bakery_ and Steve planned the next stop at _Marinettis’ Fruit Store._

“Lot of good stuff in season,” Steve said cheerfully as they emerged from the greengrocer’s shop.

“Are we gonna make a beer run?” Tony asked as bottles of Coke clinked in the carton he carried.

Steve shot him a mischievous grin. “Here we go.” He went inside the fruit shop, tiny bells jingling over the door.

They browsed bins of peaches, nectarines, oranges, apples, plums, tomatoes, potatoes, and more.

“Vegetables in with the fruit, huh?”

“The Marinettis like to double-feature things.”

“I see.” Tony checked a peach. “What, no kumquats?”

“Kumwhats?”

Tony smiled. “An exotic fruit.”

“Sorry, no exotic fruits here. Just the good ol’ American variety.”

Tony coughed. “Um, right. Well, the peaches look delicious.”

“We’ll get some of your delicious peaches, plums and apples. Bucky’s especially fond of plums.”

“Why not get more than that?”

“Hey, the icebox only holds so much.”

“Are we going to the butcher’s?”

“Let’s save that until tomorrow. Too hot to cook any meat tonight.”

“Guess the ol’ stove warms up the place.”

“Great in the winter, not so much in the summer.”

A middle-aged Italian woman with dark-brown hair and eyes smiled at Steve as he approached the cash register. “Hello, Steve. What have you got today?”

Steve and Tony put their purchases on the counter. “Here you go, Mrs. Marinetti.”

“Ah, good to see you eat! And who is your handsome companion?”

Tony smiled charmingly. “Tony…Barton, ma’am.”

“You part Italian?”

“On my mother’s side.”

“I knew it!” Rosa Marinetti beamed. “I can tell by the eyes.”

Tony laughed. “You’re very observant, _Signora.”_

Her brown eyes sparkled. “Silver tongue, _Signore. »_

Steve smiled at Tony, who realized with a pang how much he had missed the other man’s pleasure in his company. 

Rosa chatted as she rang up their order on the old-fashioned cash register. It was built to last, a sturdy machine of iron that could not be snatched up by thieves and run off with. It was a beautiful piece of machinery that wedded art and function.

Rosa and Steve talked about news of the neighborhood while Tony absorbed it all. He learned about Lily Frankel’s teething baby and Oscar Henkel’s bad back. There was the rocky romance of Gina Colletti and Tom O’Shay, and Rita Kalowitz was heading out to Hollywood to try her luck there.

“She’ll make it big and they’ll make her change her name to something very…how should I say?”

“Generic?” Tony offered.

 _“Si,_ that sound right. She will end up Rita Starlight or something, eh, Steve?”

Steve laughed, coughing a little but managing to stave off the worst of it. Tony relaxed, realizing how tense he had been when Steve had started coughing.

They took their leave of Mrs. Marinetti and walked back home, the rumble of trolley cars ubiquitous as Brooklyn had a multitude of them, hence the name _Brooklyn Dodgers_ for the local baseball team. It seemed that Brooklynites spent half their lives dodging the trolleys. 

Tony thought the trolleys were pretty cool. Primitive, sure, but even a futurist could appreciate their construction.

Back at the apartment they put away the groceries, filling the small icebox to its capacity.

“Well, thank you very much for your contribution to our food supply, Tony.” Steve’s blue eyes sparkled. “Do you realize I didn’t even know your last name until you told Mrs. Marinetti?”

“You never asked.”

“Bucky says I’m too trusting.” Steve jiggled the cereal box he was ready to put away in the cupboard. “Wheaties, Bucky’s favorite.”

“Ah, the Breakfast of Champions.” Tony closed the icebox. “So is Bucky a champion?”

“He did win some medals in track-and-field in high school.”

“A stalwart athlete.”

“He’s Jack Armstrong, all right.” Steve mopped his brow with a handkerchief.

“Any team sports?” Tony sat down at the table.

“Football and baseball. We played street hockey as kids.”

Tony wondered why the strong, athletic Bucky Barnes had fallen for frail, sickly Steve Rogers. Jocks like him usually tormented easy marks like Steve.

“Bucky says I’m a troublemaker.” Steve’s tone was affectionate as he poured two glasses of cold water from the tap. Tony gratefully accepted his glass.

“I’m melting,” he complained.

“I hear ya.” Steve drank his glass empty and poured another one. He shuffled to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “Bucky’s a good guy,” he said quietly.

“Does he have family?”

“Yes, a mother and two sisters. They live in the neighborhood and Bucky sees them frequently.”

Tony wondered if Barnes supported them, too. He doubted a dockworker’s salary would cover all those people and Steve.

_Maybe the Barnes women can support themselves._

Strong women were not uncommon in Tony’s life. Maybe Barnes was lucky.

He drank the cold water, trying to drown out the pain he felt as he remembered his parents killed by the Winter Soldier in grainy black-and-white.

“Tony, you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You look pale.” Steve learned forward. “The heat getting to you?”

“I…think so. I think I’ll go lie down.”

“Sure.” Sympathy shone in Steve’s eyes. “Hey, I have a fan you can use.”

“Thanks.”

Steve brought the fan into Tony’s bedroom and put it on the dresser. He plugged it in and kept it a low speed. “You want it faster?”

Tony was already stretched out on the bed, his fingers laced across his abdomen. He shook his head.

“Holler if you need anything.”

Steve quietly closed the door behind him. The fan was mercifully just as quiet, a whisper of cool air teasing over Tony’s skin.

He started up at the ceiling. Intellectually he knew that Bucky Barnes was not responsible for the murder of his parents, but he could not get the image of the stone-faced winter Soldier coldly killing his father and…his mother. He closed his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Momma.”

A single tear slid down his cheek and he shuddered.

 _I can’t do this. I can’t play **Three’s Company** with the man who killed my parents._

He should get up, throw his meager clothing into that battered valise and just leave and go…

…where? 

He let out a sigh in the hot room. He had no idea why he was here, how he got here, or if he would ever be able to get back to his time.

He could go to his father and explain the craziness, but he was reluctant to see him. He was keeping him as a last resort, because despite his issues with the man, Howard Stark was a certified genius and could get him back home.

Until then the only person he knew in this time was Steve, and the future Captain America was a package deal: Barnes was part of the package.

_But how can I sit across the kitchen table from him and chitchat?_

He let his mind drift, dozing as the heat sapped his strength. At least the fan was cooling him a little. He would never take air-conditioning for granted again.

_“Oh, my God.”_

_Tony’s hand shook as he touched his mother’s face, blood streaming down her bruised cheek. She was trapped in the wrecked car, his father thrown clear, but he was moaning._

_“Mom…”_

_“My boy.” Maria Stark’s voice was sad. “Go away. There’s…nothing for you here.”_

_“I can save you!” Tony tried to open the jammed car door. He heard the sound of a footstep. His head snapped around and he saw the Winter Soldier approaching. “Go away, you murdering bastard!” he snarled._

_But the Winter Soldier was relentless, his progress as inevitable as waves rolling down Niagara Falls. Brown, stringy hair framed the face of death as he marched inexorably to Howard. His father reacted in shock as he saw his assassin._

_“Bucky…Barnes?”_

_Bucky never spoke. He simply killed, not a flicker of emotion on his blank face. He dragged Howard’s body toward the car._

_“Howard!” Maria screamed._

_“I’ll get you out of here, Mom.” Tony was frantic as he tried to get the door open._

_The Winter Soldier came around the car. Tony’s rage boiled up as Maria screamed, “Leave, Tony! Run!”_

_“I can’t!”_

_He was ready to face the Winter Soldier as he straightened up…_

Tony gasped as he jerked awake, drenched in sweat. He clutched his chest, waiting for his heart to stop pounding.

_Oh, my God._

The fan kept blowing air on his body. Mostly it was warm air, but it was at least some form of relief.

He heard muted voices outside his bedroom door. Bucky must be home.

_Time to meet James Buchanan Barnes._

Tony slowly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He took a deep breath, stood up, and opened the door.


	5. Cathedral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony meets Bucky and spends time with Steve at the New York Public Library.

  
_The House of Learning_  
_Is quiet,_  
_With hushed voices_  
_And muted steps_  
_On polished floors_  
_As ceilings vault_  
_To the skies._

_The House of Knowledge_  
_Is a jewel_  
_Amidst city noises_  
_And country quiet_  
_But always_  
_Food_  
_For the mind._  


  


**Dorothea Dixon**  
**"Ode To Books"**  
**1906 C.E.**

Tony walked into the kitchen and Steve said, “Hey, roomie! Meet your other roomie.”

Steve and Bucky were sitting at the kitchen table with Bucky’s back to Tony. Tony put on a smile he hoped was convincing as Bucky stood and turned toward him.

“Glad to meet you, Tony.”

Tony felt a small jolt as a face that resembled the Winter Soldier smiled at him. His brown hair was not long and stringy but neatly combed and much shorter. His physique was excellent but not as buff as his Serum-enhanced body. His hazel eyes were not lifeless but sparkling with life, and Tony had to admit that his smile was charming.

Bucky was holding his hand out and Tony took it, the handshake firm. “Nice to meet you, too,” said Tony. He took a seat at the table. “Man, this heat wave is killing me.”

“Not just you, brother.” Bucky wiped his brow with his handkerchief. “I think I lost five pounds sweating on the docks today.”

“Me, too, and I can’t afford to lose that much weight,” Steve said jovially.

“Well, we’ll just have to fatten you up, pipsqueak.” Bucky winked and sat back in his chair. “Thanks for the rent and grocery money, pal.” This was directed to Tony.

“My pleasure.”

“Though where’s the beer, Steve?”

“You want me to spend all our money at once?”

“Yeah!”

Laughter rolled around the table, though Tony did not join in. He attempted a smile but doubted it looked convincing.

“You still feeling poorly, Tony?” asked Steve in concern.

“Yeah, it’s this damned heat.”

“Maybe you better go lie down again. If you’re asleep I won’t disturb you at suppertime.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Tony stood up.

“Need any help?” Bucky asked. Concern was in his eyes.

“Nah, but thanks.”

Tony left the kitchen to return to his room. He felt shaken as he kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed. Bucky’s genuine concern had unnerved him.

 _It’s just so weird. The Winter Soldier caring about me?_ He closed his eyes. _This is a man before unimaginable torture and brainwashing tore him apart._

He was still troubled as he fitfully fell asleep.

The next morning at breakfast, Bucky and Steve solicitously asked how he felt.

“Much better, thanks.” Tony was still wary around Bucky, but he thought that he had a better handle on his rollercoaster emotions. “Though it’s still hot as hell.”

“It might be a little cooler in the library.” Bucky looked at Steve as he ate his cereal. “Are you going, too?”

“I’ve got shopping to do.”

“Hey, I can go with you,” Tony said. “I can go to the library after.”

“I don’t want to put you out,” Steve protested.

“Don’t worry. I’ll have plenty of time to do my research.”

“Okay, I’d like to come to the library with you later.” Steve finished his cereal. “I’ll be right back.” He exited the kitchen quickly and closed the bathroom door.

“Is he okay?” Tony asked.

“His stomach’s a little…delicate.” Bucky drank his orange juice. “I’d like to ask you a favor.”

“What?” Tony put his spoon down.

“You’ve seen how sickly Steve is. You also met him while he was being beaten up in an alley.” Bucky sighed. “Steve’s mouthy. He’s the target of bullies because he’s so frail and he compounds it by shooting his mouth off.” Bucky’s clear hazel eyes gazed into Tony’s brown ones. “I’d appreciate it if you could just keep an eye out.”

“Sure.” Tony picked up his spoon. “Mouthy, huh? That seems to be a perfect description.”

This time Tony joined in the laughter around the kitchen table. 

“What’s so funny?” Steve asked as he entered the kitchen, looking a little worse for wear.

“Oh, just shootin’ the breeze,” Bucky said casually.

Steve picked up his bowl and spoon and washed them at the sink, putting them in the drying rack. He looked tired even though it was only 6:45 in the morning. 

“Today’s Friday, right?” Tony asked suddenly.

“Yeah, why?” Bucky asked.

“How about a boys’ night out? Get into some refrigeration at the movies?” He remembered that term used in the 2009 movie _Public Enemies_ by John Dillinger for air-conditioning.

“That sounds great,” Bucky said.

“My treat.”

“That sounds even better!”

Tony laughed. “It’s settled, then.”

The butcher was a rotund, cheerful fellow who reminded Tony of Ernest Borgnine, which made sense, as the genial actor had played a Bronx butcher and won an Oscar. Or would play Marty in the film of the same name in 1955.

“We’d like some pork chops, Mario,” Steve said.

“Sure, Steve.”

“This is Tony Barton, our new roommate.”

“Hey, hiya, Tony.”

“Hi, Mario.”

Mario expertly cut the pork and weighted it, quoting a price that sounded incredibly low to Tony’s 21st-century ears.

“Could you add a couple of sausages?” Tony asked.

“Sure.”

“Breakfast,” Tony said to Steve. “I’ll get us some eggs at _Henkel’s.”_

“Bucky will love that.”

“He’s got a healthy appetite.”

Steve blushed a little and Tony restrained his laughter. Steve and Bucky had no idea that he knew about their romantic relationship. He had wrestled with revealing that knowledge but wasn’t sure if it was better for them if they knew he knew or not. They would be understandably worried that he would expose them, and in this era, exposure was dangerous. 

“Beer next?”

“Absolutely.” Steve smiled and led Tony to _Empire Liquors,_ a small store packed with shelves full of bottles of all kinds of booze, Tony noted.

“Any preferences?” Steve asked.

“Any beer’s fine by me.”

“You’re an easy fella to get along with.”

Tony laughed. “So they tell me.” _Not!_

Steve chose beer on the cheap end of the price spectrum and they headed for home after picking up eggs at _Henkel’s._

Once they put away the groceries they both picked up notebooks from their rooms and boarded a trolley for Manhattan. The car was crowded with people looking forward to a day’s outing in the big city, or working various jobs. Two teenage girls in summer dresses and curled hair giggled as they talked about window shopping at _Macy’s,_ and a weary, middle-aged woman wore a faded housedress and black straw hat with a forlorn flower as she absently ate salted peanuts from a small bag. An elderly man dressed in black was staring out the window as he rested his hands on his cane. Three middle-aged women in print dresses and summer hats were chattering about the latest gossip in their tenement. 

They were all just ordinary people, Tony reflected, who had struggled during the Great Depression and were facing another World War, destined to start in two weeks. It would change everything, and Steve and Bucky would suffer in ways that Tony could barely comprehend.

_Am I really here? Or am I just dreaming this? This isn’t some sepia photograph or black-or-white film. It’s real life, in living color, like the NBC peacock._

Steve was watching the people on the sidewalks as the trolley car rumbled through the streets of Brooklyn. It was reality that Steve had to often struggle for breath or be sick in his closet-sized bathroom. He possessed incredible inner strength that would serve him well in the dark days ahead.

The two roommates got off at the library stop and Tony was glad to see the pair of familiar lions flanking the steps. The Beaux Arts architecture was always impressive, and Tony wondered if the interior would be the same.

“What are you researching today?”

“The New Deal.”

“Yeah? That’s sharp.”

They ascended the steps and entered the New York Public Library.

_Yep, still the same._

The vestibule was all polished floors and pillars as Steve and Tony headed for one of the Reading Rooms. High, vaulted ceilings let mellow lighting stream into the paneled chambers and long, mahogany tables and chairs lined the quiet rooms. Chandeliers provided lighting as the paneled walls gleamed. Bookshelves stretched endlessly in specialized areas designed for browsing.

_It’s like a cathedral for learning._

“It looks all very intellectual, doesn’t it?” Tony asked.

Steve smiled. “Let’s stake out a table and go to the card catalogue.”

They put their notebooks on a table by one of the windows. The large window was too high to see out, but a view of the spires of other buildings and the sky lent a serene air to the surroundings.

Steve led Tony to the card catalogue, a massive set of glossy, walnut drawers in a cabinet. Tony nearly laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Steve asked.

“Oh, just celebrating this fount of knowledge.”

Steve shook his head. “You are one odd guy, Tony Barton.”

Tony smirked as he chose a drawer and pulled it out. Not surprisingly, there were numerous books on the New Deal, even as the Administration was still in progress. Tony had done his share of research on FDR and the program he had brought to Washington in the depths of the Depression, particularly after Steve had been discovered and thawed out. Understanding the 1930s meant one had to understand the New Deal.

Steve was flipping through cards and said, “I’ll be back.” He hobbled off to the stacks while Tony wrote down the call numbers of the books he wanted, using paper thoughtfully provided by the library. He too went off to the stacks.

Books were the backbone of this venerable library. No computers or Internet, no videotapes or DVDs, no shunting aside books or magazines. Libraries were respected instead of denigrated as outmoded or superfluous. It was a sobering thought as he was completely wired in back in his time. He could not even remember the last time he had read an actual book instead of a Tablet or Kindle. 

Tony gathered the books he wanted and returned to the table. Steve followed about ten minutes later and dumped a stack of large books on the table.

“Art books are heavy,” groused Steve. He sat down and opened one, pulling his sketchbook toward him. “You know an encyclopedia should have plenty of New Deal information.” He turned another page. “This Administration is the most important since Lincoln’s.”

“A lot of people would disagree with you.”

Steve snorted. “Who, Republicans? The people who told the country in the early days of the Depression to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps when most of us didn’t have boots?” He paused at a page showing a Greek nude. He opened his sketchbook.

“Yeah, people like that.” Tony spoke quietly and so did Steve. Getting scolded by a librarian for loud talking was a no-no!

“I guess people are always gonna grouse.” Steve began to sketch. “But how people can complain about what FDR has done is beyond me. In 1929 when the banks crashed, folks’ life savings vanished. That was always the case until the New Deal established the FDIC and insured deposits, and we’ve got unemployment insurance now and Social Security for old folks. What’s bad about that?”

“Nothing.”

Steve’s hand was quick and confident as he drew. “The GOP sure isn’t the party of Lincoln anymore. It’s old, stodgy, rich guys. You can’t trust the rich.”

Tony opened his notebook. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, do you?”

“Possibly not.”

“Well, I usually don’t like tarring a group with a broad brush, but why wouldn’t the rich be untrustworthy? They don’t want the status quo to change because they’re on top.”

“Sounds like you believe in class warfare?” Tony joked. He wanted to keep it light until he knew where Steve was coming from.

“Class _does_ exist despite what society pretends to believe.” Steve’s eyes were on the art book while he drew.

“What do you think of Socialism?” Tony was genuinely curious. Steve had missed the entire Cold War during his time in the ice, and during World War II the Russians had been allies.

“I went to some meetings with Bucky back in ’31 or ’32. We like the idea of Socialism with everyone equal economically, but we found the Party way too restrictive. You have to be in lockstep with Moscow at all times. I like the freedom of give-and-take in our politics. Besides, I doubt it’s really a Socialist Utopia in the U.S.S.R. like some people would have you believe.”

“So you’re a capitalist?”

Steve shrugged. “Capitalism has its uses. I guess it fits human nature better than Socialism. Wasn’t it said that Christianity has never really been practiced, just like Socialism? Both are high ideals that don’t fit human nature.”

“That’s an interesting take on things.”

Steve shaded in the background of his drawing. “Ever read the Bible?”

“Long time ago,” Tony said after a moment’s hesitation.

“There’s a passage in Acts of the Apostles where the new Christians sell their worldly goods and pool their resources to live together.”

“A commune.”

“Yeah, that’s a good word for it.” Steve added more definition to the muscles of the nude. “A committee came to the Apostles and complained that some were getting more food and clothing than others. The communal experience, even among devout Christians, was petty and time-consuming. The Apostles were spending all their time mediating disputes instead of preaching the Word of God.”

“And?”

“And I don’t think collective farms in the Ukraine are as rosy as the Communists declare.”

Tony thought of the famines in the Soviet Union kept hidden from the West and said, “I think you’re right, pal.”

They were silent for several minutes until Steve spoke again. “What kind of books do you like?”

“Oh, books on science.”

“You mean science fiction? Bucky loves those kind of books.”

“He does?” Tony’s interest picked up.

“Yeah, he reads _Amazing Stories_ and all that stuff.” 

“Heinlein and Asimov?”

“Probably. I don’t remember the authors. I’ve read some of the short stories and novels. Lots of imagination but a lot of doom ‘n’ gloom, too.”

“You prefer happy endings?”

“Or at least optimistic ones.”

“I guess science fiction stories can go either way and are plausible.”

“I’d like to think things will be better in the future for everyone.” Steve grinned. “Bucky and I are saving up to go see the World’s Fair. They say you can see robots and something called ‘television’ there.”

“Do you think it will happen in, say, the next few decades?”

“What?”

“Things getting better.”

“Oh.” Steve’s smile turned rueful. “Somehow I doubt that with war coming, life is going to become a Utopia.”

Tony tapped his pencil on his notebook page. “So you think war’s coming?”

“Don’t you?” Steve leaned back in his chair, suddenly weary. “The world’s barely recovered from the last war. While the U.S. went on a decade-long party, some of Europe joined us, but not all. The defeated countries were in chaos, and even the winners had to face unbelievable destruction and all the men lost in the trenches. Civilians fared little better. The Russians were so devastated they threw the Czar out and went Bolshevik.”

“So the last war is pushing the next one.”

“Something like that.” Steve rubbed his eyes. “The merchants of death are probably gearing up for more war profiteering. How can men like that sleep at night?”

Tony’s muscles tensed. « I guess they just…” He shrugged. “Maybe they’re too boozed up to care.” 

Steve grimaced. “I’ll never understand men like that.”

“I never will, either,” Tony said quietly.

They were silent again. A librarian walked by, her shoes nearly soundless on the polished floor while a patron at a nearby table coughed. A chair scraped as someone pushed it back as the murmur of voices drifted from the Circulation Desk. 

“I’m worried about Bucky,” Steve said suddenly.

“Oh?”

“If war comes, they’ll probably institute a draft like in the last war. He’ll be a prime specimen."

_You have no idea._

“Well, maybe like the last war, it’ll be awhile before the U.S. gets involved in it. It’ll mostly be a European war.”

Steve nodded but still looked worried. Tony sighed, feeling queasy as he thought of what was to come.


	6. "We're Off To See The Wizard!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go for a night out at the movies.

_“Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”_

  


**Dorothy Gale**  
**_The Wizard Of Oz_**  
**1939 C.E.**

The line outside the _Bijou Theater_ was a long one, stretching out around the block. The crowd was varied, families mixed in with young couples out on a date, and middle-aged couples looking for a night out. There were groups of women out for fun and men like Steve, Bucky, and Tony ‘going stag’. The atmosphere was festive as people chatted and laughed. The line moved steadily toward the ticket window.

“Pretty good turn-out,” Tony said.

“Always on a Friday, and on a hot summer night? Bedlam,” said Bucky.

“Too bad it wasn’t Dish Night. We could pick up a plate to replace the one you broke drying the dishes last week,” Steve teased.

“Hey, call your shots when you’re gonna hand stuff off.” 

Tony smiled wryly as he noted the words _Cooled By Refrigeration_ on the marquee. In an era of little air-conditioning, it was a definite draw.

“I heard that _The Wizard Of Oz_ is going to be released nationwide next Friday, but this is a special release here in New York.” Steve looked at the colorful posters advertising the fantasy film. “Bucky and I had all the books as kids. We shared them and together made the full collection.”

“Two halves of a whole, eh?” If either of his companions noticed the brittle edge to his tone, they made no indication of it.

“Judy Garland’s the star of this movie.” Steve pointed at the poster. “That’s an all-star cast.”

“Should be good, especially with Technicolor,” Bucky said, studying the poster. He brushed an arm across his forehead. “Can’t wait to get into that refrigeration.”

“No kidding.”

All three wore dress slacks and lightweight summer shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Suspenders were worn instead of belts and their shoes were loafers, slightly scuffed but it could not be helped. None of them had bothered to wear a hat, though plenty of men in the crowd were wearing straw boaters. Tony still had to get used to dressing up to go places like the movies. Going to a baseball game would require the same clothes, and some men at the park would be wearing suits and fedoras, the women wearing pretty dresses, gloves, and hats as they wore tonight. It was definitely a different world.

Ten minutes later they got to the ticket window, Tony paying seventy-five cents for their admission. Inside the lobby, he was impressed by the gilt-framed floor-length mirrors that lined the walls and a rich, red carpet that matched a swath of curtains that framed movie posters of current and coming attractions. Marble pillars lent further elegance to the glittering lobby as chandeliers provided the light. All in all, it looked pretty grand, Tony thought, a far sight better than the bland, cookie-cutter multiplexes of his era.

“Popcorn,” Steve said, digging into his pants pocket.

“Your money’s no good tonight, boys,” Tony said expansively.

Bucky grinned. “In that case, the large bucket.”

“With lots of butter,” Steve said.

“That stuff’ll kill ya,” Tony grumbled.

“Butter?”

“It tastes good.” Bucky smiled at the girl who looked about twenty in the candy-striped uniform behind the counter. “Extra large popcorn, hon, with plenty of butter. And Jujubes, please.” 

“Good ‘N’ Plenties!” Steve added. “What about you, Tony?”

“I’ll take a small popcorn.”

“Watching your figure?” Bucky smirked.

“You’re damned right.”

Steve and Bucky chuckled. Tony noticed how in sync they were in practically everything. He paid for the concessions, including drinks, and the trio headed for the theater.

It was already packed in the interior venue, but they managed to find three seats together in a row toward the back.

“We’re lucky we don’t have to go up to the cheap seats,” Bucky said. He was sitting on the aisle, Steve next to him and Tony on the other side of Steve.

The babble of voices was intriguing to Tony, a mix of languages and accents that only New York could offer. Tony could hear Greek, Italian, Yiddish, Polish, Spanish and some other languages he could not quite identify. It was a typical polyglot in a Brooklyn theater in the summer of ’39, and he was surprised how much he felt like he fit in. Even if only for a night, Tony was feeling like he was part of the scenery, which amused him. Tony Stark a wallflower? What would the Avengers say to _that?_

A Warner Brothers cartoon started playing. “Bugs Bunny, huh?” Tony was delighted. “Elmer better watch out.”

The crazy antics of rabbit versus hunter flashed across the screen. Bucky chuckled, “Whatta maroon,” and Steve laughed.

“Bugs always wins in the end,” Bucky said in a satisfied tone.

“He’s a sharp operator,” Steve added. 

“He came; he saw; he conquered,” Tony drawled as Bugs triumphed over the hapless Elmer Fudd.

Bucky and Steve shared the huge bucket of popcorn as a Three Stooges short, _Calling All Curs,_ came on next.

“Whoo whoo whoo,” quipped Bucky.

Steve grinned. “Spread out.”

Tony smirked as Moe, Larry and Curly did their thing, completely messing up everything in sight. The Marx Brothers had nothing on these guys.

As the last strains of the Stooges’ theme song, _Three Blind Mice,_ faded, the stentorian staccato of _Movietone News_ started. Black-and-white footage flickered as the harsh cadence of marching jackboots filled the packed theater and a deep voice began to intone:

“Th _e first anniversary of the Munich Pact is fast approaching. The annexation of the Sudetenland in September 1938 prompted the Pact as the Czechoslovakian Crisis erupted. Despite British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain’s belief in ‘peace in our time’, many believe that time is running out. Tensions are rising in Europe, and seasoned watchers are predicting further aggression from Germany. Some predict it will happen before the year is out.”_

Tony shivered as he watched the goose-stepping Germans on the screen. If only the war could be prevented, millions saved, including…well, Steve and Bucky…but of course that could never happen. He had watched _Star Trek’s City On the Edge Of Forever_ enough times to know that screwing with the timeline never worked out for the best.

The Germans were singing on the screen, eyes right toward their sacred leader as Hitler held out his arm in the Nazi salute. The full panoply of German grandeur was in evidence as swastika-decorated flags hung from city buildings and people shouted and laughed on the sidewalks while giving the salute.

Tony could not fathom how people could have fallen for Hitler’s garbage. He had read the historical accounts and knew how devastated Germany was after the Great War with the economy in shambles and people wheeling wheelbarrows full of German marks just to buy a loaf of bread. He understood how the Nazis bringing prosperity and order would endear them to a harried people, but the virulent anti-Semitism chilled Tony. Still, how could one understand the kind of prejudice that accepted _Kristallnacht_ and yellow Star of Davids pinned to Jewish clothing as their savings and property were confiscated by the State.

_Even that is despicable, but watching people being taken away to camps simply for being Jewish? That’s another level, though I suppose people would equate the U.S. doing the same thing to the Japanese after Pearl Harbor. The thing is, there weren’t gas chambers or crematoriums in the American camps._

The clomp-clomp-clomp of jackboots unnerved Tony. He noticed Steve and Bucky watching with solemn faces as the harsh, guttural tones of Hitler grated on the ears as a speech of his was shown next.

_No, I **really** don’t get the attraction._

He was relieved to see the news switch to domestic matters. The featured story was the remarkable tale of the carving of Mount Rushmore. Gutzon Borglum and his army of sculptors were creating an incredible monument in the hills of South Dakota as the announcer breathlessly ran down statistics of height and pounds.

People came into the row and edged past him and his companions. It looked like it was going to be a full house.

_“The First Lady visited Elkhorn, West Virginia, and square-danced with the townsfolk.”_

“Go, Eleanor,” Steve chuckled.

The news gradually segued to Coming Attractions. 

_“An idealistic junior Senator from the heartland comes to the nation’s capital and fights for justice.”_

Tony began to laugh.

“What is it?” Steve whispered.

“You are so Mr. Smith.”

Steve smiled quizzically as Jimmy Stewart and Jean Arthur appeared on-screen.

_“Corruption exposed, but powerful is the barrier for young Senator Jefferson Smith as he goes to Washington. Coming this October.”_

“Looks like a classic to me,” Tony drawled.

Steve shook his head again. “Strange man,” he intoned, returning his attention to the screen as other movies were promoted.

An old, familiar (to Tony) theme song blared as the words _Gone With The Wind_ scrolled across the screen.

 _“Vivien Leigh is Scarlett O’Hara, spoiled yet seductive Southern belle whose passion for the forbidden Ashley Wilkes plays out against a backdrop of the American Civil War. Clark Gable is the dashing Captain Rhett Butler, captivated by Scarlett while the South falls down around their heads. This is the most spectacular rendition of the conflict that pit brother against brother since D.W. Griffith’s **Birth Of A Nation.**_ ” 

Tony had to admit that 1939 was a banner year for movies, agreeing with conventional wisdom. Finally the MGM lion roared on-screen and _The Wizard Of Oz_ started playing.

The sepia portion of the film gradually turned to dazzling Technicolor as Dorothy stepped out from her crashed house into Oz and the audience murmured appreciatively. Tony glanced at his companions and noted their rapt faces.

_Well, why not? This movie is very clever with its special effects, which are state-of-the-art for 1939. The color is brilliant, too, something that people in this era aren’t used to. Black-and-white is their movie world._

Despite Tony knowing this story well, he watched it with fresh eyes. 

_"Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”_

Glinda the Good Witch appeared and coaxed out the giggling Munchkins from their hiding places. It was a _tour de force_ of little people as they sang and danced in colorful costumes, scattering as the Wicked Witch of the West made an explosive entry. The ruby slippers became American folklore as Glinda magically put them on Dorothy’s feet.

The movie played out as Dorothy and Toto met the Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Cowardly Lion on their way to see the Wizard. The Art Deco-style Emerald City was supposed to represent the light at the end of the tunnel for Americans weary of the Great Depression, Tony remembered. He wondered if these contemporary Americans got that symbolism as an upbeat tune was sung.

When they reached the flying monkeys scene, Tony looked at Steve, remembering the man’s delight in the 21st century when he finally got a cultural reference as Nick Fury had used it. That was when he noticed Steve and Bucky holding hands.

It was subtle, using the dark to conceal their gesture. Tony smiled and took a quick look around. No one could see a thing. 

“We’re off to see the Wizard,” he said quietly.

“Huh?” asked Steve.

“Nothing, just muttering.”

“You seem to do that a lot.” 

Tony chuckled and ate some more popcorn.

Dorothy and the gang defeated the Wicked Witch of the West with a thrown bucket of water, and they happily presented her broom to the fierce and powerful Oz, who tried to weasel out of the deal he had struck with them: get the Witch’s broom and he would grant their requests. Outrage replaced fear as the supplicants cried foul. Toto ran to the curtain by the stage and pulled it back with his teeth, revealing an elderly man pulling levers and turning dials. The impressive voice of Oz commanded, _“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!”_

“Biggest fraud ever,” Tony said with a grin.

“Cynic,” Steve teased.

Bucky jabbed Steve with his elbow. “He’s right.”

They kept their voices low as the fake Wizard had to confess but he was still able to grant the gang’s requests in clever ways. Tony had to admire the old Wizard. He had conned an entire city, even the whole Land of Oz.

Dorothy clicked the ruby slippers as she intoned, “There’s no place like home! There’s no place like home!” and was back in Kansas with Auntie Em and Uncle Henry and their hired hands that bore a remarkable resemblance to a certain Oz trio. The audience clapped enthusiastically as the lights came up.

Tony, Steve and Bucky spilled out with the rest of the crowd onto the sidewalk. Steve declared, “I’m calling that a classic.”

"I'd agree," said Bucky.

"That film will become one of the most beloved of all time and become even more popular in the future than today," Tony said.

“And how would you know?” asked Steve in amusement.

“Because I see all and know all,” Tony answered loftily.

“Mr. Crystal Ball,” Steve teased.

“The Gypsy King?” Bucky asked.

“Isaac Asimov,” Tony replied.

“A fine choice.”

“Let’s go get something to eat.” Steve looked eagerly at his companions.

“Didn’t you fill up on popcorn?” Tony asked incredulously.

“I finished my share over on hour ago. Let’s go to the Automat. Fast and cheap.”

“That’s true, but I’m not in the mood for the Automat. Let’s go to the Empire.” Bucky tossed the empty popcorn bucket into a trash can.

“I’ll go along with that.”

“Our treat,” Bucky said to Tony.

“Lead on, MacDuff.” Tony bowed and gestured expansively while Steve and Bucky grinned.

The three of them headed for the restaurant as they went with the flow of the Friday night crowd.


	7. The Meatloaf Pact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony predicts the future and Bucky reveals a startling secret

_"Diner food is America’s menu."_

**Billy Sanders**  
**Host Of**  
**"American Diners"**  
**The Food Network**  
**2012 C.E.**

The _Empire_ was a popular diner lit up in neon and chrome with a Wurlitzer jukebox, shiny counter and yellow booths. Everything looked bright and new, Steve explaining that the owner had recently splurged on renovations.

“I gotta admit, it’s a snazzy place.” Tony eagerly looked around. This was no retro diner but the real thing. _Little Brown Jug_ was playing on the red-and-yellow jukebox and there was only one booth left. Laughter and conversation were mixed in with the music. One waitress worked the counter while two worked the booths.

The three friends slid into the empty booth. Steve and Bucky sat on one side with Tony on the other. Tony pushed away unsettling memories of the fight in Siberia and concentrated on being with his two roommates in a noisy diner after a night at the movies which featured a cartoon, a _Three Stooges_ short, _Movietone News,_ and _The Wizard Of Oz._

A middle-aged waitress with taffy-colored hair and a matching uniform came over with menus. “Hiya, boys. Who’s the new cutie?”

“Tony Barton, Ella,” Steve answered.

She snapped her gum and set the menus down while she smiled at Tony. “Have the meatloaf, honey. It’s good.”

“Thanks for the recommendation.”

She winked and said, “Be back in a few, boys,” and went to the open space between diner and kitchen where plates of food waited to be picked up by the waitresses.

“I’m taking her recommendation, because it is good.” Bucky did not bother to open the menu.

Steve skimmed his menu and flipped it shut. “Me, too.”

Tony scanned the pictures on the plastic menu, always amused by the prices. “Okay, meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes and gravy for me, three.”

“See? Easy.” Bucky grinned.

Five minutes later Ella returned with glasses of water. “What’ll it be, gents?”

“Meatloaf all around, Ella,” Bucky said. “And three Cokes.”

“Gotcha, hon.”

After Ella left, Steve leaned forward and rested his arms on the Formica table. “So you can see the future?” 

Tony held out his hand. “Cross my palm with dough and I’ll predict your future.”

“How about I hold out my hand and you give me a reading?” Steve asked with a saucy grin.

Tony took his hand and studied the palm. He traced a finger down the palm. “I see a long life for you.”

“Hey, Steve, you’re gonna make it, buddy.” Bucky clapped a hand on the blond’s shoulder.

“Go on, Great Wizard.”

“I see fame and fortune in your future.”

“Hey, I could use some of the fortune.”

“What, fame doesn’t interest you?” Tony asked.

“Fame is highly overrated. Why would I want to go around with flashbulbs popping in my face all the time?”

Tony thought of social media and considered Steve lucky if he only got the flashbulbs.

Ella arrived with the Cokes, unfazed by the tomfoolery. She smirked as she went to another table.

Steve pulled away and Bucky took his hand. “I see a lot in your future, too.” He ran a finger lightly down his friend’s palm, Steve shivering slightly.

 _Oh, very clever, guys,_ Tony thought. He smiled as he relaxed against the booth.

“Yeah?” Steve played along. “What kind of things in my future?”

“Good things,” Bucky said softly.

 _Moonlight Serenade_ began playing on the jukebox. The quintessential music most associated with the World War II era was just right, Tony thought. Bucky and Steve had their moment in a diner full of people.

The food arrived and Tony tasted his meal. “I never knew meatloaf could be this good.”

“Didn’t your mom make it?” Steve asked, handing Bucky a bottle of Heinz 57 ketchup. Bucky promptly poured ketchup over his meatloaf, mixing it with the brown gravy. 

“These are good-sized portions,” Tony commented. “And my mother wasn’t much of a cook.”

“Ah. Well, not everybody’s mother has the knack.” Steve took a small bite of green beans. “So, Great and Powerful Oz, who will run for President in 1940?” 

“FDR.”

Steve shook his head. “He can’t run for a third term.”

“Who says?” Tony cut a piece of meatloaf with his knife and fork.

“Well, it’s tradition. Washington declined a third term, so everyone else does, too.”

“Since when has Franklin Roosevelt ever followed the book, or at least tweaked the pages? Isn’t he the guy who moved Thanksgiving? These are unusual times. If war comes, who better to lead us?”

Tony could see Steve mulling over the idea, and Bucky was intrigued as well. He ate a slice of meatloaf, noting bits of onion in the beef.

“Well, if he does run in 1940, I’ll vote for him!” Steve nodded definitively.

“I’ll pull the lever for him,” Bucky agreed.

“Me, too,” said Tony. “Let’s call it the Meatloaf Pact.”

Steve and Bucky laughed, raising their glasses and clinking them with Tony’s glass to seal the Pact.

Back at the apartment Steve emptied the doggy bag taken from the diner and stored the food into the icebox. “I’m beat. I’m gonna hit the hay.”

“I’ll be in after I have a smoke,” said Bucky.

Steve shuffled off to bed as Bucky climbed out onto the fire escape.

“Mind some company?” asked Tony.

“Nope.”

Tony followed Bucky out onto the fire escape. Bucky lit a cigarette and held out the pack of Lucky Strikes. Tony took one and Bucky lit it for him. Tony took a deep drag.

_It’s been a long time since I had a smoke. I probably shouldn’t, but what the hell? Everybody smokes in 1939._

Despite the mild light pollution, stars were scattered across the dark sky. Tony could barely see Bucky, the glow of his cigarette like a firefly as the younger man smoked.

Snatches of conversation could be heard from open windows as traffic was light at this late hour. The streetlight directly below them was broken, making the street darker than normal. 

Suddenly Bucky spoke. “I have to come out here to smoke. Cigarette smoke would have Steve coughing his lungs out.” He took another drag. “So, you’re a future kind of guy.”

“Pretty much.” Tony blew out a ring of smoke. “Steve says you are, too.”

“Yeah?”

“He says you’re a science fiction fan.”

“I am.” The glowing tip of Bucky’s cigarette moved as he lowered it. “Steve enjoys _Amazing Stories_ and the novels, but I think he’s more at home with the 19th century novels.”

“Yeah?” Tony was genuinely curious.

“All that honor and gallantry jazz is right up his alley.”

“I’d agree with that,” Tony said in amusement. “You know him well.”

“I love him.”

Momentarily startled, Tony figured that Bucky meant as a brother. “He _is_ like an annoying little brother.”

“I don’t mean that way.”

Tony took a drag off his cigarette, his stomach fluttering. “Yeah?”

“I’ve seen you watching us.” Bucky’s face was completely in the dark. “You know about us.”

Tony wondered why Bucky was taking this enormous risk. “Some would say some things are best left unsaid.”

“True.”

“Why tell me your secret?”

“You haven’t exposed us. At the very least, you could have just left.”

“True.” Tony did not quite know how to feel at this show of trust. “I promise you, your secret’s safe with me.”

“I appreciate that.”

Tony remembered walking down the hall last night and hearing laughter and muted voices as he passed Steve and Bucky’s room. The door was slightly ajar. Tony had smirked all the way to his bedroom.

“Um, what’s Steve going to think about you telling me?”

“I haven’t decided whether or not to tell him. You’ll know when I do.”

“You’re a man of many facets, Bucky Barnes.”

_Truer words were never spoken._


	8. The Heat Of The Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve falls ill.

  
_The heat of the day,_  
_Melts the spirit,_  
_As it presses down hard,_  
_A blanket of brick_  
_And steel_  
_And bone._

_Spare us the heat,_  
_The endless heat,_  
_In the steel canyons_  
_And yellowed meadows_  
_Of the withered_  
_earth._  


  


**Mabel Goodson**  
**"Seasons Turn"**  
**1922 C.E.**

Tony knew when Bucky had told Steve. The morning of his seventh day in the past Steve smiled at him in a way that let Tony know he knew that Steve and Bucky were not just sleeping together in the literal sense in the bed they shared.

He was still puzzled over their willingness to trust him with such a dangerous secret. Maybe it was the same thing that mellowed Tony out. He seemed unconcerned about his sojourn here in the past or when he might return to the future.

_How will I get back home? Click my ruby slippers?_

The thought amused him as he and his roommates fell into a routine: Bucky would go to work on the docks while Steve and Tony went to the library. Steve would read or sketch while Tony did his research. He still had enough money but it would run out eventually. He had a plan to get more if he needed it.

 _Why aren’t I anxious to go back home?_ Tony tapped his pencil against the yellow cover of his notebook. Sunlight streamed in through the high windows of the Reading Room. It set Steve’s lemon-blond hair afire.

_I can see why Bucky’s so nuts about him._

Steve was looking tired today. Tony hoped that he was all right. Steve getting sick in this era of pre-antibiotics made him nervous.

He rubbed his eyes and shut them the notebook in front of him. “You know, this heat has me beat.”

Steve grunted. The sheen of sweat on his skin accentuated an unhealthy pallor.

“I’m calling it a day early.”

“Okay.” Steve had been listlessly drawing in his sketchbook. He now closed the book and he and Tony left the library.

He was quiet on the trolley car ride home. When they disembarked from the streetcar, Tony stayed close to Steve, who was looking frailer than usual as he could barely walk up the steps of their building. He accepted Tony’s help, letting Tony know how tired he was by that concession.

It was an excruciating trek up two more flights of stairs. Somehow they made it to 304 and Tony helped Steve to his bedroom. Steve was white and shaking as he stripped down to his shorts and crawled into his bed.

“Can I get you any medicine?” Tony asked.

“Aspirin.”

Tony turned the large floor fan on as he went to the bathroom. He scanned the medicine bottles and wished that there was penicillin or other wonder drugs in the cabinet, but even penicillin would not be available for civilian use until after the war. And you needed to get the shot in a doctor’s office, but since he was wishing for the moon, why not go all the way? He grabbed the bottle of Bayer aspirin and returned to the bedroom.

“Hold on while I get you some water.”

Steve was curled up on his side, breathing heavily. Tony grabbed the pitcher off the nightstand and quickly chipped some ice off the block in the icebox to put in the pitcher. He had been fascinated to watch the iceman come down the street with his horse and wagon and deliver a large block of ice to their apartment. He filled the pitcher from the tap and brought it to Steve’s room.

Steve looked like he was asleep but opened his eyes when Tony entered the room. Tony helped him sit up and take the aspirin and water.

“Thanks.” Steve managed a shaky smile before lying back down again.

“Try and get some sleep,” Tony urged. He put the glass on the nightstand within easy reach.

“Okay.”

The fan was noisy and Tony wondered how Steve could sleep at all with that racket. He studied the fan and shut it off.

“Mmph?” Steve mumbled.

“Just gonna make an adjustment.” Tony ran to the kitchen and yanked opened the drawer at the end of the counter. He grabbed a screwdriver and hustled back to the bedroom. “Just a minute.” 

Tony tinkered for ten minutes, then turned the fan on again. There was still some noise but it was considerably less now.

Steve squinted up at Tony. “What did you do?”

“Just tinkered. Get some sleep.”

Tony went to the kitchen and chipped off some ice to use. He poured a glass of water and drank it greedily.

He was really worried. The symptoms did not appear to be heatstroke, but maybe his friend’s frail health was allowing the heat to drain him even more extensively than for a normal person. 

He glanced at the small bulletin board affixed to the wall. There was a note tacked to it with Bucky’s work number. Should he call him? 

He decided not to just yet. Undoubtedly Steve was ill often and Bucky could not risk losing his job by taking time off for every bout of sickness his lover suffered.

Tony finished his water and went back to check on Steve. He found him sleeping and gently touched his shoulder, nearly snatching his hand back.

_He’s burning up!_

To be honest, he could not be sure if the heat was from a fever or the weather. He decided to start a rudimentary treatment and went to the linen closet in the hall, taking out two small towels. He wet them in the tiny shower and was back at Steve’s bedside.

He started wiping Steve down, hoping that the towels could bring his friend’s temperature down. Steve was so tired that he slept through Tony’s ministrations.

Tony was pleased to feel Steve’s skin become a little cooler. He fetched a small hand towel and placed it around the back of his patient’s neck.

_Maybe I shouldn’t be worried. Steve is destined to survive his sickly years to become Captain America, but what if my presence here has disrupted the timeline?_

His lack of curiosity about how he had been sent back in time should have disturbed him, but he was uncharacteristically calm. He had vague memories of a stormy night back in 2016, but nothing was clear. How was he going to get back home?

_Maybe I’ll need that pair of ruby slippers after all._

Why was he not more concerned with getting home? He checked Steve’s brow, still warm but a little cooler now.

_Could be I’m not anxious to return to a future with Rhodey hurt, no Pepper, no team, and no friends._

Steve moaned and moved restlessly but did not awaken. Tony pulled over the rocking chair from the corner and sat down, applying his cold compresses.

_Man, you sure suffered a lot before the Serum, didn’t you, Steve?_

Tony leaned back in the rocking chair and closed his eyes.

“Hey, wake up.”

“Huh?” Tony blinked. “What…?” He found himself looking at the concerned brown eyes of Bucky Barnes.

“You okay, Tony?”

“I’m fine. I’m not the one who’s sick. Steve!” Tony jolted forward and saw Steve with fresh towels on him.

“Glad you thought of the cold compresses. We’ll have to keep an eye on him. The heat can do a number on him, and this heat wave is just going on and on.”

“Should we take him to the hospital?”

Bucky shook his head. “They won’t do anything for him that we can’t do.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m going to shower off the day’s sweat.”

Tony checked the compresses. They were still cool.

After Bucky showered and changed, he brought in a kitchen chair and sat on the other side of the bed. “How is he?”

“Pretty much all right. Though I wish his temperature would go down.”

“It will.”

“You sound certain.”

“Why not? I’ve had plenty of practice.”

Bucky’s tone was brittle, whether from weariness or something else, Tony could not tell.

Steve moved restlessly. “Bucky,” he muttered.

“Right here, Stevie.”

“Love you.”

Bucky touched Steve’s thin arm. “Love you, too, kid.”

Steve subsided into sleep. Bucky’s hand lingered on Steve’s arm, then he took it away and leaned back in his chair. “Good thing you know the score. Might have to do some fancy explaining otherwise.”

Tony nodded. “You’re right.” He smiled mischievously. “Gonna spill any pillow talk?”

Bucky laughed. “God, I hope not.”

Tony realized how relaxed he felt. Was he being charmed by Bucky, obviously not the Winter Soldier who he remembered? Did he consider Bucky separate from the emotionless assassin of the future?

_When we fought in Siberia, Bucky said he remembered killing my parents. He said that he remembered them all._

The thought chilled Tony. What would it be like to kill against your will and remember every one? 

Bucky’s attention was on Steve so he missed the pity in Tony’s eyes.

Bucky and Tony kept vigil together until the evening closed in, then they took shifts. Bucky slept in Tony’s bed when Tony attended Steve.

Steve babbled at one point as Tony put a fresh compress on the sick man’s forehead. Most of what Steve was saying was unintelligible, but suddenly his words were clear.

“Don’t leave me, Bucky!”

_At least not by choice._

Steve groped blindly. “Bucky!”

Tony took his hand and Steve quieted. Steve’s grip was firm despite the fragility of his bones. There was always strength in this man, no matter what. Stubborn, tenacious, forever determined…that was Steve Rogers, poor Irish-American from Brooklyn, U.S.A.

“I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that once you decided not to sign the Accords, you’d stick to your guns. You’re a man of conviction, not to mention stubbornness.” Steve moved and Tony chuckled. “Even when conked out, you have to challenge my assertion, huh? Well, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

Tony put his hand on Steve’s forehead. The ache in his chest underscored how much he missed Steve in his own time.

_Irritating, annoying, exasperating…caring, funny, intriguing…_

Steve squeezed his hand and Tony thought he was conscious, but the sick man was too deep in fevered sleep. Tony squeezed back and Steve seemed to relax. 

“He’s pretty tactile.”

Tony looked around to see Bucky standing in the doorway. “Yeah, I guess so.” Tony gently extricated his hand and patted Steve’s.

Bucky walked in and put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

“I will.” Tony looked pensive. “I know he’s strong, but he’s so damned _frail.”_

“I know.” Bucky’s voice was sad. “That isn’t going to change.”

Tony knew that would have been true without the Super-Soldier Serum. It still did not make the present any easier as Steve suffered. 

“How do you stand it?” Tony asked.

“Sometimes I can’t.” Bucky looked down at Steve while he crossed his arms. “He really got the short end of the health stick.”

“Yeah.” Tony smiled a little. “You know, he really is like Jefferson Smith in _Mr. Smith Goes To Washington.”_

“You mean that Coming Attraction we saw?”

“Yeah.” Tony chuckled. “A naive, true-blue American who will fight to the bitter end for justice.”

“That sounds like Steve all right.” Bucky picked up the water pitcher. “I’ll refill this. Want some icewater?”

Tony nodded. After Bucky left, he put his hand over Steve’s. “You won’t have to suffer too much longer, Steve. You’re going to be the greatest hero this world has ever seen.”

When Bucky returned, Tony gratefully accepted his water. The icy-cold goodness was just what his parched throat needed.

Bucky took the other chair and drank from his own glass. They kept their vigil in silence until Bucky said, “He’s had it rough. He and his mother always had to struggle.”

“What happened to his father?” Tony asked, even though he knew the answer.

“He died in the war. Mustard gas.”

“A bad way to go.”

“Even for war.” 

“Yes, even for war.” Tony suddenly felt very tired. 

“When his mother died, Steve was really shaken up. He and Mrs. Rogers were very close. Steve was always sad about his father, but he never knew him since he was born right around the time his father was killed.”

Tony thought of his lifelong battle with his own father until…the Winter Soldier killed him. He stared at Bucky, who looked very little like a brainwashed killing machine. He just looked like a very young man in love, worried about his sickly lover.

“Go to bed, Tony,” Bucky said, not unkindly.

The next morning, Steve was much better. By the end of the day, he was sitting up and eating, albeit lightly. Tony and Bucky ate in the bedroom on trays they set at the edge of the bed. Tony watched Steve and Bucky laughing and came to a decision.

“Whatever you guys go saved up for the World’s Fair, I’ll make up the rest. If you’re up to it, Steve, I say let’s go to the World’s Fair and see the World of Tomorrow.”


	9. The World Of Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trio visit the 1939 World’s Fair.

  
_We know not_  
_What tomorrow brings,_  
_But we hope_  
_That it will be better_  
_Than today._  


  


**Alfred Sinclair**  
**"The Day**  
**The Martians Invaded"**  
**1914 C.E.**

The train brought the three revelers to the site of the World’s Fair in Flushing Meadows-Corona Park. It was a site eerily familiar to Tony, as it had been (or was to be) the place where the Stark Expo was located.

The passengers oohed and aahed at the sight of the iconic Trylon and Perisphere, the tall Trylon resembling a thinner Washington Monument and the Perisphere a round globe. The white structures gleamed in the bright August sun.

The three of them went with the rest of the crowd to the entrance. After paying for admission, they studied the guidebooks and decided to just walk around before making a plan.

“Hey, they had a Superman Day here last month,” said Tony.

“Well, he _is_ the Man of Tomorrow,” Steve said.

“Great comics, too,” said Bucky. “Wilder than any science fiction novel.”

“Imagine if there really was a Superman?” Steve’s eyes sparkled.

Tony chuckled. Captain America was not super-powered, but he was enhanced and a true hero. Steve would serve that role quite well.

They paused beside a tall stone structure. “It’s the Westinghouse Time Capsule,” Steve read. “Wow, it’s not scheduled to be opened for 5,000 years, in the year 6939.”

“Wow is right,” Bucky said. “Think we’ll be around then?”

Tony thought of the longevity powers of the Serum. You might be.

Steve grinned. “It contains writings by Albert Einstein and Thomas Moore, copies of _Life Magazine,_ a Mickey Mouse watch, a Gillette safety razor, a kewpie doll, a dollar in change, a pack of Camel cigarettes, and millions of pages of text on microfilm.”

“Shoulda been Lucky Strikes,” Tony drawled. “And a Mickey Mouse watch? I like it!” 

“It also contains seeds of wheat, corn, oats, tobacco, and a bunch of others. It’s all buried at a depth of 50 feet,” Bucky read as he grinned at Tony’s shenanigans.

“That’s amazing!” Tony was fascinated. As a futurist, time capsules interested him greatly.

“Isn’t it Westinghouse that features the robot?” Bucky asked.

All three men grinned. “We’re off to see the Tin Man!” Steve declared.

Bucky said, “Does that make you Dorothy?”

“I dunno. Are you the Scarecrow or the Tin Man?”

“The brains of the outfit? I’ll take the Scarecrow.”

“I’ll take the Tin Man,” Tony said, trying not to smirk.

“So that leaves me with either Dorothy or the Cowardly Lion, huh?” Steve thought a minute. “I’ll take Dorothy.”

“C’mon, let’s go see Moto-Man,” Bucky said as Tony laughed.

There was a crowd waiting in the Westinghouse pavilion eager to see the fabled robot. An excited hum started as a nattily-dressed man came out on a platform several feet above the main floor, followed by Electro.

The robot was painted gold, its movements slow but steady. Its torso was wide and stocky with a hole in the center. Steve had brought a Brownie camera with him and took pictures.

“Ladies and gentlemen, with a great deal of pride and pleasure, I present to you Electro, the Westinghouse Moto-Man!”

Applause greeted the introductory announcement, and the host began a conversation with the robot, simple words but keeping up logical thought. Tony knew that it was primitive but still amazing for 1939. 

The host eventually put a cigarette in Electro’s mouth and lit it. The robot began ‘smoking’, much to the crowd’s delight. Steve snapped more pictures.

Tony marveled at the attitudes about smoking. People were so accepting of smoking that even a robot had to light up! Smoking was allowed everywhere: at work, on trains, on planes, in restaurants and hospitals. The soldiers in the upcoming war would find cigarettes in their packages of C-rations, and doctors and nurses would freely distribute cigarettes to wounded soldiers in the hospitals.

“Boy, never saw anything like that before.” Steve’s gaze was riveted to the robot.

“We can see a lot more wonders in the Futurama exhibit,” Bucky said.

“Where is that?” 

“Right here in the Transportation Zone.”

“Let’s go!”

The show with Electro was over in a few minutes, so the trio moved out with the crowd. Since the Westinghouse pavilion was not far from where Futurama was housed, they opted to walk instead of taking a tram.

The tram system consisted of cars that moved along a rail via electricity. It was simple but effective, and would spare them all long walks in the August sun later. While the heat was a little less oppressive today, it was still going to wear them out. And Steve’s recent bout with the heat made it imperative to keep a discreet eye on him, which Tony and Bucky did by unspoken agreement.

Once they arrived at the General Motors pavilion, they boarded a tram, which transported them over a huge diorama of a fictional representation of the United States in 1960. They were delighted by the miniature depictions of highways, towns, 500,000 individually designed homes, 50,000 vehicles, waterways and a million trees of diverse species. The diorama grew and the cars and other elements achieved life-size proportions.

The tram glided to a halt, discharging its passengers. The visitors entered what appeared to be a life-size city intersection with tall buildings and stores. The stores showcased cars and other GM products of the latest design. New materials were explained and new product concepts were unveiled, currently unavailable but in a few years, very available for a public starved for new gadgets after a decade of Depression. 

It was an endless parade of wonders as the world of 1960 was laid out. Tony noted that they got the extensive highway system right. The major highway project under federal auspices in the 1950s would connect the country in a way unknown in 1939.

“Everything’s so clean,” Steve marveled. He took pictures of Tony and Bucky, and they took turns snapping Steve’s picture with each one of them. 

“Guess Art Deco lives on,” commented Bucky as he studied the architecture.

Considering the ugly, boxy architecture of the late ‘60s and entire ‘70s, Tony wished that Art Deco had lasted longer. 

“Will we have flying cars?” Steve quipped.

Tony smiled. "Like _The Jetsons?"_

“Who?”

“Oh, just a guess as to a futuristic family name.”

They went to the other pavilions. _Railroads On Parade_ showed the latest innovations in diesel and electric power. They watched a live drama about the history of railroads and the newest models, examples of streamlined Art Deco, were a gleaming paean to progress.

Tony loved all of it. In 21st-century eyes, some of the exhibits were primitive, but for this time and place, daringly inventive.

Moving on to the Communications and Business Zone, they saw electric typewriters and an electric calculator.

Steve was overjoyed that IBM presented a Masterpieces of Art gallery with hundreds of artworks from over 70 countries. The Old Masters ranged from the Middle Ages to 1800 and Steve took them all in with shining eyes. Bucky and Tony exchanged knowing smiles, happy for their friend.

In the RCA Pavilion, the wonder of television was unveiled. Steve and Bucky were fascinated by the sleek wooden cabinets housing small TV screens, broadcasting low-resolution pictures. The thought of having such devices in American homes was an exciting one. It would bring the world to their living rooms! Tony was intrigued by the streamlined designs of the casings and thought about getting one for the Tower when he got back home.

In the Government Zone they were thrilled to stroll through pavilions of dozens of countries. Each building for every exhibit utilized clever and innovative designs, encouraged by the Fair’s Commission to go all out. 

They saw impressive showings from Great Britain, which showcased the Magna Carta, and the U.S.S.R., which contained a mock-up of the Moscow Metro subway system. The Jewish Palestine Pavilion broached the concept of a Jewish state, which considering the state of Europe as it pertained to Jews these days, was not a startling idea. The Polish pavilion contained paintings, armor, inventions, and a royal carpet of the honored King Kazimierz Jagiellonczyk. They had obviously been very enthusiastic about showcasing Polish history and culture here in America, and it was a bright, cheerful exhibit by a people doomed to endure the first of Nazi Germany’s aggressions very soon. 

They ate lunch in the popular restaurant that was part of the Italian Pavilion. Shaped like a luxury cruise ship, the eatery was elegant but in the spirit of the Fair, kept prices reasonable. The trio enjoyed wonderfully fresh garden salads and Chicken _Parmesan,_ seafood _scampi_ and veal _scallopini._ They drank good Italian wine and dipped their bread in virgin olive oil. Happily sated, they strolled out of the restaurant, fortified for the afternoon.

They were amused to wind up in the Food Zone after such a bountiful lunch. They were amazed by the mechanical methods in the Borden’s exhibit for milking cows. Some of the equipment would be used later in the future, Tony knew. The building next door was shaped like a loaf of bread, painted white with red, yellow and blue balloons.

“Wonder Bread!” Tony exclaimed with a laugh.

“Look, there’s a wheat field,” Steve said.

Bucky read a sign. “This says it’s the first time in a century that wheat’s been grown in New York City.”

“Past and future.”

Bucky smiled. “That’s right.”

They made a stop in the Amusement Area, which reminded them of Coney Island (the Life Saver Parachute Jump would wind up there after the Fair), and took in the Aquacade, worthy of Esther Williams for sparkling water pageantry.

Finally, on their way out, they took pictures in front of the Trylon and Perisphere. They asked a man strolling in with his wife to take a picture of the three of them in front of the gleaming landmarks. Steve got between Tony and Bucky and they all put their arms around each other’s shoulders and smiled as the man snapped the Brownie.

They talked about the Fair that night and for the next week. Steve said, “Maybe the World of Tomorrow is going to be better.”

Six days later, the country woke up to the news that Germany had invaded Poland, and England and France had declared war on Germany.

The world was at war once again.


	10. When The War Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The country reacts to another war beginning in Europe.

  
_When the war came,_  
_We weren’t ready,_  
_Because who is ever, really,_  
_For blood and death and bullets?_  
_Instead, we watched Dem Bums_  
_And all our bullets_  
_Were silver,_  
_As we gently pushed away_  
_The screaming headlines_  
_And cheered on_  
_The good guys_  
_Wafting from_  
_Our radios_  
_On days of butter-gold_  
_Before the blood seeped over_  
_On days_  
_Gone cold._  


  


**Jefferson Jones**  
**"When The War Came"**  
**1942 C.E.**

Bucky went out to get a newspaper early on the morning of Friday, September 1st. Steve and Tony were making breakfast and talking about what their plans might be for that evening when Bucky returned, looking grim. He held up the newspaper:

& & &

**GERMANY INVADES POLAND; ENGLAND AND FRANCE TO ISSUE ULTIMATUMS TO CEASE AGGRESSION**

“So, it’s started,” Steve said softly, holding two pieces of bread to put in the toaster.

“Let’s turn on the radio,” Bucky suggested. 

The three of them went into the living room and Tony turned on the Philco radio that was set on the small end table next to the couch. A stentorian voice said, _“Stuka bombers are diving toward Warsaw in continuous raids. Refugees are fleeing the city as relentless attacks destroy the peace of the country.”_

Steve was not the only one who looked ill. Even Tony, who had known what was to come, was shaken. This was not some history book or old newsreel; this was real. He looked at Steve and Bucky, whose lives would be changed forever before this war was finally over. Both would suffer in ways they could not even begin to imagine. 

Bucky slipped his hand into Steve’s as they sat around the radio. Steve would not be worried about serving in the military. Despite his persistence in trying to enlist in a few years, deep down he must know he was 4-F material. It was Bucky he was worried about.

After a half hour, Bucky shut off the radio. “I gotta eat and get to work.”

“Yeah, sure.” Steve stood. “Toast?”

“Yeah.”

Steve went into the kitchen. Tony kept quiet. What was there to say?

“Damn, why does the bad stuff always become inevitable?” Bucky asked. He looked like he wanted a cigarette.

& & &

Breakfast was quiet as the three men ate. Once Bucky left, Tony and Steve did a quick clean-up.

“Are you still going to the library?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. I figure the war right now is Europe’s problem. We still gotta eat.”

Steve flashed a smile. “Okay. Let me get my sketchbook.”

The two of them entered a world buzzing about war. Despite no official declarations of it by England and France, people knew that it was inevitable. The ultimatums would be batted away by the victorious Germans. The warnings were something the democracies did as a matter of form. Dictatorships had no use for them.

Gradually as the war ground on and the U.S. stayed out of it, it would recede into the background for most Americans, but today it was _déjà vu_ all over again, as that grand baseball philosopher Yogi Berra would be quoted as saying years later. 

Newsboys hawked their papers by yelling the hot news, and they had plenty of customers. Most people did not listen to their radios early in the morning and received a shock when they left their homes.

On the streetcar a middle-aged woman was telling her friend, “I tell you, Gracie, I got a shiver when I heard the news walking out my front door. I remember the last war.” 

“So do I. Let’s hope the Europeans can settle it this time without needing us to go save their bacon like in 1917.”

The first woman nodded. “I don’t want my nephew Billy in any trenches.”

“Times like this I’m glad I had girls instead of boys.”

“Amen to that.”

Two elderly gentlemen were querulously arguing. The first bespectacled man said, “There will be a peacetime draft.”

His friend waved a cigar. “Why? You don’t need a draft unless you’re at war.”

“Best to start preparing now.”

“You’re jumping the gun.”

“Maybe, but it took forever to get our troops ready to send over in the last war.”

The second gentleman coughed. “I’m in no hurry to send our boys over there again. Let the Europeans clean up their own mess this time.”

 _If only, old man,_ thought Tony.

Once they reached Manhattan, the newsboys were on every corner. Thick crowds were around them, shoving coins at the kids, who handed out newspapers rapidly. War, as always, was good for business. 

They got off the streetcar and heard snatches of conversation on the sidewalk:

“Are we gonna have a war every generation?”

“It’s not our business.”

“We’ll have to bail ‘em out again.”

“Damned Germans always causing trouble.”

“If we get in this one, my boy will do his duty.”

“Who cares? Europe’s always fightin’ about _something.”_

Tony was not surprised by any of the opinions. Why should people be enthused about this war? It would be interesting to follow, but most sane people would want no part of it.

The library was quiet, but Tony could feel an undercurrent of energy. In between note-taking and book-shelving, patrons and staff were whispering about the news. Uneasiness seemed to be the dominant emotion.

_I bet they’re hoping for Britain and France to end things quickly, but the Germans have been gearing up for this since 1933. They are ruthless and efficient with their **blitzkrieg** and other military maneuvers._

He and Steve sat at their usual table and began working, Tony on his research and Steve his drawing. The quiet of the library soothed their nerves. Tony was surprised at how jangly his nerves were.

_I must be going native. I know the future, but I’m still nervous, though maybe that’s the reason why. I know the suffering that lies ahead. What the people of Poland are going through is going to be repeated many times over._

Steve put aside his pencil. “I can’t draw today. I’m going to get some newspapers.” 

Steve was lucky to snag a copy of the _New York Times_ and also brought papers from Boston, Philadelphia and Chicago. The headlines were relentless, and Tony knew that in a few days, they would be screaming **WAR!** once the official declarations were made by England and France. 

The stories were much the same: descriptions of Stuka bombers pounding Warsaw as ground troops marched across the countryside. Tony could not imagine the terror felt by the Polish civilians who lay in the path of the brutal _blitzkrieg._

_Always the innocents suffer._

He felt shame at ever allowing himself to be involved in selling munitions. _Never again!_

“Tony?”

“Huh?”

“You all right?”

Tony looked at Steve’s concerned face. “Yeah, I guess it’s just all a little overwhelming.”

“No kidding.” Steve waved his hand over the newspapers spread out on the table. “It’s a scary thing. War isn’t something to fool around with. Some guys might march off to war with visions of glory dancing in their heads like sugar plums, but they’ll find out quick that it’s no day at the beach.”

“So you’re not a glory hound?”

Steve shook his head. “I’ve read a lot about World War I. Tony, you can’t imagine how awful it was: trenches that would fill with water to give soldiers trenchfoot, shells raining on their heads, flamethrowers, tanks, and all kinds of chemical warfare.” 

Tony remembered the death of Steve’s soldier father by mustard gas. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“It was. And that doesn’t even count ‘going over the top’ and running through No Man’s Land with bullets and bombs flying.” Steve’s tone was bitter. “Sometimes you’re not even sure why they fought.”

Tony pointed at the papers. “This war will be more clear-cut. No assassination in Sarajevo this time, with a network of alliances drawing everyone in. Germany is the clear aggressor.”

“England and France are drawn in already.”

Tony was surprised. “Do you lean toward pacifism, Steve? No offense,” he added hastily, aware that pacifism could be a pejorative in this era.

“No, if we go to war, I’d fight. Not that they’d take me.” His tone was resigned, though Tony knew he would try multiple times to enlist until Dr. Erskine noticed him and offered him a place in the Super-Soldier Serum Project. “I’m just hoping that we stay out of this one.” Tony could sense Steve’s fear.

_Bucky’s a prime candidate for the draft if he doesn’t enlist voluntarily first. If I remember right, he **did** volunteer soon after Pearl Harbor._

He wondered how Steve would support himself once Bucky joined the Army. He was too sickly for a factory job. Maybe an office job? Jobs would be plentiful once America went to war.

“Well, I still say it’s too soon to worry. It could be years before we’re in this thing.” Tony hoped he sounded convincing.

“Too bad the Poles don’t have that luxury,” Steve stared down broodingly at the newspapers.

Two days later, England and France officially declared war on Germany.

That morning Steve and Tony passed the crowds gathered around the newsboys again as the boys hawked their papers with the tall, black headlines that screamed **WAR!** The men went to Marinettis’ Fruit Store and browsed through the bins bursting with food, the headlines imprinted in their memories. Two middle-aged women were checking the plums and talking.

The first speaker wore a black straw hat, her graying hair trying to escape its severe bun. Her pudgy body was clad in a black dress and an old-fashioned brooch glittered under her lace collar. She shook her head as she spoke.

“A terrible thing, Maria! I wake up this morning and what do I find? War!”

“I know, Angie.” The second speaker was also stout and gray-haired but wore a flowery print and cream-colored hat. “But that Hitler fella kept yappin’ about needin’ livin’ space and all that. Guess he decided to take it.”

“But what if we get drawn into their war again? Haven’t we sacrificed enough?” Angie made an anguished gesture at her mourning clothes. “Is my son next?”

Maria patted her hand and the two women moved to another bin.

Steve and Tony took their place and looked over the plums. Steve said quietly, “Some Italian women stay in widow’s weeds for the rest of their lives after a loved one passes. She lost her husband in the last war.”

“Poor woman,” Tony said.

They could hear Angie’s lamentations as she and Maria talked to Rosa Marinetti at the cash register. Angie was close to tears when she and her friend left the store.

When they approached the cash register after filling their baskets, Rosa clucked her tongue. “Such things that go on in this world! Poor Angie; it brings back bad memories.”

“I know,” Steve said solemnly.

“And now her boy Mario might have to fight.”

Tony held up a hand. “Hold on, Mrs. Marinetti. It’s still a little early for that.”

“Yes, you’re right.” She sighed and rang up their purchases. “I just worry, you know?”

Steve said sympathetically, “We know.”

Once out on the sidewalk, he explained. “She has four sons.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yeah.”

That evening as Bucky showered after getting home from work, Steve and Tony were setting up chairs in front of the radio. Steve left the room and Tony checked the icebox for beer. He wandered back into the living room just as Steve returned.

“Here, Tony.” Steve held out his hand.

There was a photograph in it and Tony took the small picture. He looked at it and laughed. “The Three Amigos, eh?”

Steve grinned. “That’s right.”

The photo showed the three of them in front of the Trylon and Perisphere.

“A particularly happy day,” Steve said softly.

Tony felt great affection for his sentimental friend. “Thanks for showing it to me.” He started to hand it back.

“Keep it.” Steve put up his hand. “I had two copies made.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

Bucky entered the room toweling his hair dry. “Where’s the beer?”

“I dunno, Buck, drinking beer while listening to _The Lone Ranger_ seems kind of sacrilegious somehow. I half-expect a nun’s ruler to come down on our hands holding the beer bottles,” said Steve saucily.

“I’ll get the beers,” smirked Tony.

In the kitchen he heard lively banter between his friends and he paused at the icebox. When had he started thinking of Bucky as a friend?

_Does it matter? The Winter Soldier won’t exist for six years. This is the here-and-now. And all I know is that Bucky has been a good friend._

Tony opened the icebox and took out the beers. He headed for the living room and paused just before the entrance.

It had grown quiet in the apartment and Tony now could see why. Steve and Bucky were kissing, holding each other close almost as if they were ready to start dancing. Tony retreated, then clinked the bottles as he re-approached the living room. By the time he arrived Steve and Bucky were sitting in their chairs in front of the radio. The Philco was warming up and Tony said, “Someday we’ll be sitting around in front of a TV.”

“Like we saw at the Fair?” Steve took a swig of beer.

“Yep.”

“Imagine seeing things in your own living room as they’re happening!” Steve’s eyes shone.

The strains of the William Tell Overture began as the narration started:

_“A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust and a hearty Hi-Yo Silver! The Lone Ranger! With his faithful Indian companion Tonto, the daring and resourceful masked rider of the plains led the fight for law and order in the early western United States! Nowhere in the pages of history can one find a greater champion of justice! Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear! From out of the past come the thundering hoofbeats of the great horse Silver! The Lone Ranger rides again!”_

“Hey, it’s time!” Steve said. Tony almost began to laugh until he realized that Steve was doing a wide-eyed routine. He threw a pillow from the couch at him and Steve ducked, grinning.

The deep voice of the Lone Ranger, Brace Beemer, said, _“Come on, Silver! Let’s go, big fellow! Hi-yo, Silver! Away!”_

Tony took a swig of beer. It figured that Steve would identify with an upstanding hero like the Lone Ranger.

_Well, maybe the world needs squeaky-clean heroes, especially now._

They listened to the fast-paced adventure and Tony decided it was thrilling days from yesteryear. It was fun and the critics were right: radio _did_ make you use your imagination. Tony could envision the big, white horse carrying the Lone Ranger and the smaller paint horse, Scout, carrying Tonto as they rode the range. Of course he did picture Clayton Moore and Jay Silverheels from the future TV show, but everything else had to run through his head. It was always fun to listen to the old radio shows, new to his companions. 

“Watch out, Kemosabe! It’s a trap!” yelled Bucky.

“Use your silver bullets!” Steve added.

“Are there werewolves in the Old West?” Tony snarked.

“Maybe.” Steve grinned.

“Ha,” Bucky said. “Does that include witches and vampires?”

“That’s more the Shadow’s thing.”

Bucky let loose the Shadow’s laugh. “What makes you say that?” he said innocently.

Tony drank his beer, feeling content. Somehow living in this small Brooklyn apartment with these two men allowed him some peace, something he had rarely achieved in his lifetime.

He slept very well that night.


	11. "Take Me Out To The Ball Game"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trio take in a _Dodgers_ game.

  
_"Take me out to the ball game_  
_Take me out to the crowd,_  
_Buy me some peanuts and crackerjack_  
_I don't care if I never get back._  
_Let me root, root, root for the home team,_  
_If they don't win, it's a shame._  
_For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out,_  
_At the old ball game.”_  


  


**Jack Norworth (Lyricist)**  
**Albert Von Tilzer (Composer)**  
**York Music Company**  
**1908, 1927 C.E.**

As summer faded away into fall, the heat gradually slipped away, replaced by cool, crisp days that brought with them the promise of turning leaves in Central Park. The days grew shorter as the kids went back to school, housewives checked their Christmas Club accounts to begin holiday shopping the day after Thanksgiving, and people settled into their post-summer routine before the holiday whirl would begin in a matter of weeks.

Poland was invaded by the Soviet Union on September 17th, the Red Army gobbling up as much territory as it could grab. It took less than a month for Nazi Germany to defeat Poland, as the beleaguered country surrendered on September 27th. They had fought hard but it had been a quixotic task from the start with the Polish cavalry on horseback charging German Tiger tanks.

In the United States, buffered by the Atlantic Ocean between them and carnage, the war receded as people’s attention turned to the rituals of autumn. The baseball season was in its final month. The Yankees had run away with the American League pennant and the _Dodgers_ would have a slight chance at the National League pennant, though the _Cardinals_ were the only true threat to the _Cincinnati Reds_. Steve and Bucky decided to finally take in a game and invited Tony. “Our treat,” Bucky insisted, and Tony accepted. 

He had a pressing problem as the days of late-afternoon sunlight turned buttery-gold. His stash of fifty dollars was dwindling, and October rent was due soon. He was still here in 1939, so it was time to put his plan into action.

Tony walked confidently into the Bailey & Trust Bank, an obscure little bank in which his father had a long-forgotten account. Howard had told him about opening his first account here at the age of ten.

Opened in 1859, the bank still had most of the original dark woodwork and Carrera marble, and tellers’ cages were the original iron. Tony walked over the gleaming marble floor past a fat pillar and approached one of the tellers.

She looked up and smiled, her coppery hair coiffed in the latest fashion. “Good morning, sir. How may I help you?”

“Just making a withdrawal, Miss.”

“Yes, sir.” Her eyes widened as she saw the signature on the slip. “Mr. Stark…”

“Shh!” Tony put a finger to his lips as he lowered his sunglasses and looked over their rims. “I’m trying to be incognito.”

“Oh, oh, of course!” Flustered, the teller quickly processed the withdrawal, presenting Tony with fifty dollars in crisp, new, ten-dollar bills.

Tony smiled. His pencil-thin mustache and lack of goatee made him strongly resemble his father as he looked in 1939. He wore casual clothes but a fedora and sunglasses to obscure his features as much as possible. 

He accepted the bills and smiled at the young woman. His father never accessed this account. If he stayed in the past he would figure out what job he could get to earn money, but right now this account would do nicely. He smirked as he tucked away the money in both pants pockets. Best to keep the pickpockets on their toes.

Ebbets Field was a classic, old-fashioned ballpark built in 1912 and officially opened on April 9, 1913 versus the _Philadelphia Phillies,_ today’s opponent. Sportswriters called it a ‘cigar box’, possibly giving it a jab since a press box had not been built for them until 1929. The ribbed beams and iron pillars resembled Boston’s Fenway Park in its quirkiness, which had opened in 1912. While Fenway had the Wall in left field looming over the field like some monster ready to gobble up baseballs (hence the nickname, ‘The Green Monster’ in later generations), here in Ebbets there were odd configurations like the left field corner being below street level and a terrace running along the left field wall. Neither park had standard yardage to left, center, and right field, and many other parks of the era could boast the same oddness. Cookie-cutter parks were far in the future.

Tony found the place fascinating. Only Fenway Park and Wrigley Field would survive into the 21st-century as examples of unique ballpark architecture. He sat with Steve and Bucky on the first base line halfway up the grandstand. He squirmed in a small seat (people were definitely smaller in this era) and ate hot dogs with mustard as his friends treated him. Steve sat to the left of him and Bucky to the left of Steve. Tony liked sitting on the aisle. He felt slightly claustrophobic inward, and these rows were packed so tightly together that if someone entered or left, everyone had to stand up to let them by. 

“We’ve got to try and catch a _Yankees_ game next year,” Steve said.

“Why?” Bucky asked as he juggled his two hot dogs.

“I want to see the Splendid Splinter in person when the _Red Sox_ come to town.”

“Ted Williams?”

"Yeah. They say he’s gonna be a great one.”

Tony was amused. _The skinny guy with power appeals to you, huh?_

“Well, I’m all for broadening my horizons,” Bucky drawled. “Here in New York we have the opportunity to see the stars of both leagues.”

“An embarrassment of riches,” Tony quipped.

“Well, embarrassment usually applies to the _Dodgers._ Riches, not really.” Steve took a bite of his hot dog.

Bucky laughed. “Considering this park was built over an old pig farm by the name of Pigtown, you’re not far off the mark.”

“You’re kidding.” Tony paused in eating his hot dog.

“Nope.” Bucky’s eyes gleamed. “Pretty fitting setting for Dem Bums, huh?”

Tony snorted. “Guess some clubs have all the luck.”

The _Dodgers’_ opponent was the _Philadelphia Phillies,_ which amused everyone in the stands.

“The _Dodgers_ beat the Phillies 22-4 last Saturday in Philly. Talk about a record for this club,” Steve said.

“Maybe they’ll score that many runs again,” Tony said.

Steve and Bucky looked at each other, then burst out laughing.

Tony settled back in his chair. It was a beautiful day for a baseball game, well, two of them. While double-headers were rare in the future, they were commonplace in this era. Two games for the price of one was a good deal, and always drew a big crowd. The majority of seats were filled, and people were still streaming in after getting concessions.

The game started and Bucky grabbed the attention of the peanut vendor. Soon peanut shells were littering the row under their chairs, and Tony drank a beer as the salty peanuts made him thirsty.

It was interesting to watch ballplayers who were not instant millionaires ply their craft. Many came from blue-collar backgrounds or abject poverty and had to work jobs in the off-season because their salaries were so low. The people identified with the players in ways that no one in his century could fathom anymore.

Despite the leisurely pace of the game and the number of runs scored ( _Dodgers_ 14, _Phillies_ 5), the contest still went faster than a game in the 21st century. There were no endless television ads between innings and the starting pitcher played until he was knocked out of the box, so no numerous pitching changes in later innings for set-up men and closers. If you had good stuff that day, you pitched the entire game, and if you did not, you went to the showers early. Very simple.

The three friends stretched and wandered around the ballpark in the intermission between games. Everyone was dressed in their best: men in suits and fedoras and women in dresses and flowery hats. Even children wore good clothes and shined shoes. No jeans could be seen anywhere in the overflowing crowd.

Tony and his friends were dressed in neatly-pressed pants, good shirts, and dress shoes. Tony had grown fond of suspenders and wore those, and Steve wore a suit jacket while Tony and Bucky were in shirtsleeves. Steve sported a newsboy cap, Bucky in a battered fedora, and Tony a jaunty straw boater. He had changed on his way from the bank to the stadium via a quick stop at the apartment.

Tony was still not quite used to dressing up for going to the movies or a ballgame. The slob culture of torn jeans and ratty T-shirts was still too much a part of him. While such outfits were a lot more comfortable, nobody in this crowd seemed uncomfortable.

“How about some ice cream?” Bucky suggested.

All three returned to their seats eating push-up ice cream. That was basically the ballpark menu: hot dogs, peanuts, and ice cream. Oh, and popcorn. Drinks were beer, Coke, or Dr. Pepper. Choices were limited in the prewar world, but nobody seemed to mind.

Tony relaxed and enjoyed the second game, which the Dodgers won, 5-1. The crowd had gotten excited in the first game, wondering if the team would score as many runs as last week, and in this game they were a little more laidback, but not by much. Tony ate popcorn and entered into the spirit of the game.

“You call that a strike, ump? Get your eyes checked!”

When shortstop Leo Durocher beat out a throw to first base, Tony yelled and clapped and nearly knocked his red-and-white-striped box of popcorn off his lap. Steve and Bucky were delighted by his fanhood, and yelled a little louder, too.

All day there had been plenty to cheer about. The _Dodgers_ were really putting on a show. The Three Amigos, as Tony was calling them now, were enjoying themselves immensely. They sang “Take me out to the ball game” during the seventh-inning stretch for the second time that day at the top of their lungs and grinned. People were in a festive mood, happy that it was a Saturday.

Tony knew that it would be a day he would always remember.


	12. All Hallows' Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trio enjoys Halloween as a storm approaches.

  
_When the veil_  
_Between the worlds_  
_Is at its_  
_Thinnest,_  
_Then Magic flies_  
_On broomsticks_  
_All through_  
_The night._  


  


**Serena Ashby**  
**"Witches’ Night"**  
**1939 C.E.**

Golden September turned to yellow-orange-and-scarlet October as the days and nights grew cool and there was frost on the pumpkins, at least in the fields outside the city. The World’s Fair would close before November with the promise of re-opening in the spring, its popularity encouraging a second season.

Poland’s suffering was still on the front pages, but people gently pushed those stories away. It was a time for holidays, to think about Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas and not about Danzig pounded to ash or Jews rounded up and crammed into the Warsaw ghetto with yellow Stars of David pinned to their coats. Eventually the crowding would lessen as many would be shipped to camps with names like Auschwitz, Treblinka, and Bergen-Belsen.

None of those names were familiar to Americans. Poland’s troubles were far away, like rabid dogs chained in a crumbling front yard that pedestrians would pass, aware of the barking animals on the periphery but feeling safe because of a fence between them and a chain holding back the source of their fear. They knew that someday the chain would break and let loose the dogs of war, aimed for their throats. 

But not today. For now, Americans would hurry past that front yard while going about their business, yet searching for weapons for when the day came when the chain broke.

Bucky brandished the tickets he had bought. “Knights of Columbus.”

“You got ‘em!” Steve crowed.

“Yep. What costumes are we going to wear?”

Tony yawned as he came into the parlor, looking rumpled. “What’s going on?”

“Bucky scored tickets to the Knights of Columbus Halloween Ball.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky swaggered across the hardwood floor. “Got any costume ideas?”

“Not at the moment.” Tony ran his fingers through his hair, its pomade-free wildness indicating that he had been late getting up on this fine Saturday.

Steve snapped his fingers. “I got it! _The Wizard Of Oz!”_

“I call the Tin Man,” Tony said as he shambled toward the kitchen for coffee.

Bucky and Steve grinned.

When _Mr. Smith Goes To Washington_ was released on October 17th, Tony insisted they go see the film. “It’s right up your alley, Rogers,” he teased.

The three of them enjoyed the movie, munching on popcorn and sipping Cokes as the young, idealistic, incredibly naïve Jefferson Smith took on corruption in Washington, D.C., and through sheer stubbornness prevailed. Bucky chuckled quietly throughout the movie while Tony smirked and Steve ignored both of them, resolutely keeping his eyes on the screen. 

Once out on the sidewalk after the movie ended, Bucky said, “You recommended a fine film, Tony.”

“Oh, the finest.” Tony nodded.

Steve marched to the wastebasket and dumped his empty popcorn box.

“Such heart! Such determination! Such stubbornness!” Bucky declared, tilting his head up as he swept his arm out in grandiose fashion.

“The Saunders tomato was delicious,” Tony added, referring to Jefferson Smith’s love interest and partner-in-crime.

Steve dusted off his hands over the wire basket. “Jean Arthur is not a tomato. She’s a fine actress.”

“And Jimmy Stewart nails Jefferson Smith as a character. Hey, Bucky, does Jeff Smith remind you of anybody?”

“Gee, I dunno. What about you, Steve?”

Steve ignored his friends’ laughter as he stalked down the street. They followed in amusement.

“I think Steve needs to cool down,” Bucky said. “We should bring him out to Coney Island. Remember our trip there last month?”

“Yeah, I appreciated going out there when the weather was cooler. Cooling the hotheads!” Tony said the last three words loudly.

Bucky and Tony laughed all the way home.

As Bucky and Steve worked on their costumes, Tony assured them that he could find something out of what he could find in the basement. He poked around in the musty cellar while Bucky somehow found cornstalks and sewed sheaves of the yellow stalks to an old dark-blue shirt and pair of pants. He found an old slouch hat at a secondhand store and debated on whether to wear a domino mask or paint his face.

Steve kept his costume out of sight. He said he wanted to get the full effect when he was finished.

The residents of the building decorated their doors with cut-outs of Jack O'Lanterns, Witches and ghosts and someone had put a black cut-out of a bat on the building's front door.

As Halloween dawned, the weather forecast was for a clear evening to start while a thunderstorm was predicted for later.

"Well, at least it's not a hurricane," Bucky remarked. "Last year a huge hurricane blew up the coast in September."

“Yeah, it whacked Long Island, slammed Rhode Island and Massachusetts, and was a horror show all the way around,” Steve called from the bedroom.

Tony entered the living room with a silver-painted costume that resembled the Tin Man. Bucky was impressed at the cardboard and metal that combined to make a convincing costume.

“Where did you get all that stuff?”

“Oh, just from scraps in the basement.” Tony’s eyes twinkled.

“Okay, guys, I’m coming out,” Steve said.

Bucky and Tony turned to face the entrance to the parlor and their jaws dropped.

Steve was wearing a blue-and-white gingham dress, a brown wig parted into pigtails with red ribbons, and red shoes sprayed with glitter. His face was pink with rouge and he was wearing false black eyelashes. Steve clicked his shoes.

“There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”

“Wow.” Bucky approached his lover. “So you decided to be Dorothy?”

“Yes.” Steve smiled shyly.

Bucky drew Steve into a kiss. When they broke apart, Steve blushed.

“Sorry for the show, Tony.”

“Hey, I’m a fan of love.” Tony waved the axe he had made out of a stick of wood and cardboard for the head with it all painted silver. “Looks like we’ll have to go to the ball without the Cowardly Lion.”

“Actually, no. Arnie Roth is going as the Lion, so I invited him to come along,” Steve said.

Tony liked Arnie. A chubby guy who also a kind, humorous man, he was a good friend to both Steve and Bucky. He felt relaxed around Arnie.

“Oh, forgot something!” Steve ran back to his bedroom.

“Maybe it’s Toto,” Bucky drawled.

Tony laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Steve returned to the parlor carrying a picnic basket.

“No Toto?” Bucky asked.

“With my allergies? Sorry, no.”

“You look great.”

“Nice,” Tony agreed.

A knock on the door caused Steve to hurry to answer it. Tony could see the Cowardly Lion framed in the doorway.

“Come on in, Arnie,” said Steve.

Arnie came in dressed in a tan shirt and pants with an authentic-looking lion mask. A tail swung up behind him, made of an old drapery tassel. Tony had a vision of Scarlett O’Hara and drapes. _Maybe Carol Burnett, come to think of it,_ and laughed quietly to himself.

The doorbell rang and Steve picked up a bowl of candy set on a card table by the door. He opened the door to a small gaggle of kids dressed as a cat, Witch, and two ghosts.

“Trick-or-treat!” they chorused.

“Hi, guys.” Steve scooped up a handful of Hershey miniature chocolate bars and dropped them in the kids’ bags and plastic Jack O’Lanterns. “Happy Halloween!”

As soon as Steve closed the door, the doorbell rang again. He opened it to another group of children. “Dorothy!” a little girl in a fairy princess costume exclaimed.

Steve grinned and handed out the candy. Once again he closed the door. “The kids’ll be done soon. The Ball won’t start for awhile yet.”

Everyone took a turn answering the doorbell, amused by the costumes of the excited children. The children were equally delighted by the Oz costumes.

“Where’d you get the mask, Arnie?” Bucky asked.

“I saved up and got it from a costume shop on Broadway.”

“Must’ve cost you a pretty penny.”

“Oh, not so bad. Besides, I can rent it out next year. I’ll get my money back. Things are lookin’ up, you know.” 

“It’s the Emerald City lights at the end of the tunnel,” Bucky said as he snitched a Hershey miniature from the bowl.

“Quit dippin’ into the till,” Steve chastised.

“Okay, Dorothy.”

Steve adjusted his dress. “These garters are a pain. How do women put up with them?”

“Careful you don’t put a run in your stockings.”

“Thanks for the advice.” 

When the doorbell rang again, Arnie went to answer it this time. Steve smiled. “Brings back memories, huh?”

Bucky nodded. “We didn’t get much candy because we were all poor, but the trick-or-treating was fun.”

Tony thought of his own trick-or-treating experience. His parents had never wanted him going door-to-door to strangers’ houses so forbade the ritual, but one year they were out of town and Tony persuaded Jarvis, butler and confidante, to take him trick-or-treating. It had been a successful outing, and every year after that until Tony got too old for ‘kid stuff’, he and Jarvis managed the ritual, sometimes right under Howard and Maria’s noses.

The influx of trick-or-treaters became a trickle until the doorbell no longer rang. Steve checked his make-up in the bathroom mirror and said, “Let’s go.”

The four of them caused a bit of a stir as they walked four abreast down the sidewalk. Bucky hummed, “We’re off to see the Wizard” and his companions grinned. They joined in, all four singing the song and getting waves from kids and smiles from grown-ups. It was a night when adults could act like kids and get away with it.

The Knights Of Columbus had rented out the VFW Hall for their event. They usually held their meetings in St. Cecilia’s Catholic Church but needed more space than the church hall for the Halloween Ball. Proceeds would go to fund their various charitable works, much of which would funnel back to the neighborhood. The Merensky Recreational Hall was decorated with skeletons that clacked and Jack O’Lanterns that grinned. A scarecrow was keeping vigil on the front lawn while plastic black cats arched their backs at its feet.

Inside was even more impressive with black-swathed walls and glittering cut-outs of ghosts, Witches, and bats. Real pumpkins and carved Jack O’Lanterns were on tables and in corners as a dais featured a swing band. Tables with food and drink lined the walls in an adjoining room where round tables were arranged so that there was plenty of dance space in the main room.

The leader of the Knights took the microphone and said, “Welcome, ladies and gents, and Happy Halloween! Let’s get this party started!”

The crowd cheered and entered into the spirit of the evening by getting right into the dancing as the band played _Little Brown Jug._

The friends found girls to dance with (Bucky always managed to find them), and Steve danced with men, careful to keep up his feminine façade. He and Bucky danced several dances and he took turns with Arnie and Tony, too. 

As Steve and Tony danced, Tony’s eyes twinkled. “Never knew you were the Belle of the Ball.”

“That’s me.” Steve laughed. “You cut quite a rug yourself.”

Tony wiggled his hips. “You bet.”

“You’d make a good fan dancer.”

“Yeah? You think I’m Sally Rand?”

Steve did a quick little dance step as the boogie-woogie beat thrummed through the room and dancers clomped and stomped. “You are an exhibitionist, Tin Man.”

“True.”

Steve twirled his dress. “You’re also an odd man, Tony Barton.”

“Thank you, Dorothy Gale.”

The revelry continued as Tony danced with a pretty Snow White, wisps of coppery hair trying to escape her black wig. Finally tired, Tony decided to get some food. He made a roast beef sandwich with mustard and put a fat dill pickle on the side. He drank punch that was thankfully not too sweet (the spiking would probably come later by some wiseguy) and saw Bucky sitting at a table. He walked over and joined him.

“Good party, huh?” Bucky asked.

“Swingin’.”

Bucky grinned. He was eating a turkey sandwich and chips. An orange-frosted chocolate cupcake was on a separate plate to be consumed as dessert. He washed down his sandwich with a bottle of Moxie.

Tony felt guilty as he ate his sandwich. He could warn Bucky about his fate, save him from seven decades of suffering. Save his parents.

For most of his time here in the past, he had been incredibly mellow about everything. Lately, though, he had been feeling the urge to warn Steve and Bucky about their fates, though he was uncertain about just what to say. Warn them against joining the Army? Not very practical, as a man sitting out World War II was going to be a target of scorn and worse.

And Steve? What should he say to his starry, wide-eyed friend? Steer clear of the Super-Soldier Serum Project, which was Top Secret and sounded like Buck Rogers stuff? Tony began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“If you and Steve got married, you’d be Buck Rogers.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as Tony laughed again. Bucky jibed, “Or maybe he’d be Steve Barnes.” He shook his head. “Aren’t you the wit?”

“Half-wit?”

“Yes.” Bucky’s expression turned smug. “I gotta go see if I can snag Dorothy for another dance.”

“She’s a popular one.” Tony crunched on his pickle.

“Damn, I forgot to get a pickle.”

“You like pickles.” Tony had seen Bucky’s preference for pickles during many lunches. "Steve likes pickles, too.” Tony’s eyes were dancing.

“Yes, he does.” The glint in Bucky’s eyes matched Tony’s. He took a long swig of Moxie.

“You’re a good friend, Bucky,” Tony said, that urge to speak again welling up within him.

“Thanks, Tony. So are you.”

Steve suddenly showed up, blue eyes shining. “Best Halloween Ball _ever!”_

“Pull up a chair,” Tony invited.

“Let me get something to eat first.”

When Steve came back with a cold chicken sandwich and a giant pickle, Bucky and Tony exchanged a mischievous look.

“Arnie says he’s going to nominate this band for best ever at a Knights Of Columbus shindig.” Steve sat in a chair he pulled from an empty table.

“I’d vote for that,” Tony said.

“Me, too,” said Bucky.

“Well, if FDR runs like you predict, we can vote for him, too,” Steve said to Tony.

“Ha, ha,” Bucky snarked.

“Heh, heh,” Tony added.

“Woo woo!” Steve quipped.

“Are you suggesting that we’re the Three Stooges instead of the Three Amigos?” Tony asked.

“Either title fits,” Bucky answered.

All three laughed.

As it grew later, Tony went out on the front lawn. Thunder rumbled in the distance as lightning arced on the horizon. The predicted storm was coming. He felt a strange, hollow feeling in the deepness of his chest.

A stream of people were leaving, and Steve, Bucky and Arnie were heading down the driveway.

“Hey, Tony!” Steve ran over. “We’re going up to Harlem for the Halloween drag balls. Wanna come?”

Tony considered it, but a flash of lightning sent electricity skittering along his skin. “No, I’m kinda beat. I think I’ll go home.” 

Bucky bounced over. “Arnie’s got some suggestions on which balls to hit.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Tony!” Steve hurried to catch up with Arnie.

“Sorry to lose the Tin Man,” Bucky said.

“Take Electro. I saw him around here someplace.”

Bucky laughed. “I guess we could.” He clapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “See ya tomorrow, buddy.” He turned to join his friends when Tony called, “Bucky!”

“Yeah?” Bucky looked at Tony.

“Don’t follow Steve onto the train.”

Puzzled, Bucky was going to ask what he meant when Steve called, “Come on, Bucky!”

Bucky waved and ran off to catch up with Steve and Arnie. Tony watched him go with a lump in his throat.


	13. As Fall Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm hits Brooklyn.

  
_In the last days_  
_Before the War,_  
_There was Summer_  
_And Freedom,_  
_And you,_  
_Because we knew_  
_Our days were_  
_Numbered._  
_We knew our days_  
_Would be_  
_Encumbered,_  
_By worry_  
_And fears_  
_And tears_  
_Washing up_  
_On the shore,_  
_Because_  
_We had done it_  
_Before._  
_As Fall came,_  
_We laid no blame._  
_We lived our lives_  
_Waiting,_  
_To enter the War._  


  


**Sarah O’Grady**  
**"On The Eve**  
**Of The War"**  
**1941 C.E.**

Tony’s skin tingled as he headed for home. He watched the lightning in the distance and thought about the veil between the worlds of reality and beyond at its thinnest this night. He thought about it all the way back to the apartment building as people in costume glided past him, and when he reached his apartment and removed his costume and make-up. It was still on his mind as he went up to the roof with a pack of Bucky’s Lucky Strikes and matchbook, now wearing faun-colored slacks with suspenders and a white shirt with a suit jacket. 

He lit a cigarette as he stood on the roof, the wind blowing with a gustiness that heralded the coming storm. He was fortunate to light the cigarette. 

Tony smoked as the storm kept coming closer. It would be a spectacular show. It already was as the lightning arced around the clouds, casting light into darkness, blotting out the stars. The lightning grew more frequent as the thunder rumbled, the sound rippling around the city. It faded slowly as Tony waited.

The storm skittered around the edges of Tony’s mind. He had vague memories of a storm just before he woke up in the past. Something was pulling him to this spot now, something strong enough to make him pass on a trip to Harlem with his friends.

For the first time in a long time, Tony did not feel as if he was a part of the fabric of the times. He felt lost and lonely, which disturbed him. He had friends here. He had not, per his usual pattern, screwed things up. He was a friend to both Steve and Bucky and he had adjusted to the lack of computers, Tablets, cell phones, the Internet…something that before his strange odyssey he never would have thought possible.

_Who knew I could be happy sitting in front of a radio listening to Glenn Miller music and **Gangbusters?**_

He smiled gently. Would anyone in 2016 believe it? Or more to the point, would anyone care? Most of his friends were on the run and he was mostly alone in the future, except for Vision. Not that Vision was not entertaining, but it made it hard to throw parties with only two in the Tower. 

Speaking of visions, they floated through his memories, of him and Steve and Bucky sitting around the kitchen table eating sandwiches and drinking beer, talking politics and the war or just neighborhood gossip. There were times of laughter and good fellowship and despite the scramble for money to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table, the two born into poverty knew how to have fun. 

He remembered meeting Bucky’s mother and sisters in their modest apartment, all of them pretty, though Rebecca Barnes was looking a little careworn. They had welcomed him into their family when Bucky clapped him on the shoulder and declared him a friend, and they had sat around the kitchen and talked with warm gingerbread from the oven and lemonade in sparkling glasses on the table. The apartment showed ‘the woman’s touch’ with flowers and scrubbed surfaces and the smell of lemon polish and perfume. Tony had liked them immediately and when someone mentioned Poland, he saw the worry in Rebecca’s eyes for her son.

The Barnes family had also taken in Steve, who had lost Sarah and needed a friend. Bucky was that friend, but so was his family, and Tony was warmed by seeing their affection for the skinny, sickly, young man who was fiercely loyal to their son and brother. Not for the first time, he wished that he had grown up with a sibling or two, though in his family they probably would have been set against each other in unending competition. 

The atmosphere here on the roof was charged with electricity. He ran a hand through his hair and received a small static electric shock. His hand shook slightly as he studied his cigarette. A huge gust of wind blew it out. 

“Damnit.” He fished around in his back pocket for the matchbook. “Always an obstacle.”

“Put there by your own actions, I’d bet.”

Tony turned quickly to see the last person he expected: his father.

Howard Stark’s eyes blazed as he stood on the rooftop. He was dressed in a tuxedo and expensive greatcoat, his hair slicked back and a pencil-thin mustache looking very stylish. His Gucci shoes shone as he pointed a gloved finger at Tony, their pearl-gray kid leather soft and extremely expensive. He held a matching fedora in his other hand. A white silk scarf whipped in the wind.

“Return my money, you thief!”

“It was only fifty dollars.”

“Only? I bet it buys two months’ rent in this dump.”

“Two-and-a-half, actually.”

Howard peered at Tony. “You _do_ look like me.”

“How did you find me?” 

“That teller you scammed saw you tonight at the Knights Of Columbus Halloween Ball. She even danced with you.”

Tony thought back to the dance partners he had enjoyed this evening. “Snow White.”

“Very good.” Howard’s voice was cold. “You’re smart.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Smartmouth, too.”

“So you caught me.” Tony shrugged, trying to remain casual as his heart pounded. This was his father in the prime of his life before the war scarred him, before years of drinking and dissipation had jaded him, making him embittered and cynical by the time Tony was born.

Howard radiated energy. He looked every inch the privileged man of society, never knowing hunger or any privation yet driven to know things. It scared Tony to realize how much he was like his father. 

“You bet I did. How did you know about that account?”

Tony took a drag on his cigarette after managing to light it. “I did some research. An old newspaper article mentioned your first bank account while you still were in short pants.”

Howard’s eyes narrowed. “Definitely a smartmouth.”

“And just plain smart,” Tony said as he airily gestured with his cigarette.

The wind was growing stronger as it began to sprinkle. Thunder cracked and the building shook. Tony felt as if his skin was alive with energy. The rain started coming down harder. It felt good on his skin.

“Give me back my money,” Howard demanded.

“You’re loaded. What’s fifty bucks to you?”

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

Tony snorted. “Fancy words for trying to justify wanting that small amount of money back, surrounded by all this poverty.” He gestured at the neighborhood, the glow of his Lucky Strike looking like a firefly’s dance.

“You’ve got a roof over your head,” Howard scoffed.

Tony jumped slightly as lightning flashed closer. He knew that stealing was wrong, but his father knew how to push his buttons even when he had no idea he was doing it. The rain and wind blew out his cigarette again and he tossed it away. Howard’s coat flapped in the wind. He and Tony glared at each other. 

Loneliness was part of him, had been until he had met Happy when he was hired to be his chauffeur/bodyguard, met Rhodey at MIT, Pepper when he took over Stark Industries, and finally, the Avengers. They were his friends, his family. The whole Accords mess had broken apart that family.

Until now. 

He had found a family here in the past. Now his father was threatening to take all that away.

_Okay, maybe I’m projecting, but I can’t have any complications. If the cops get involved, they’ll find out I’m not a researcher for a new encyclopedia. I don’t have a job at all._

A loud crack of thunder drowned out Howard’s next words. Lightning flashed close enough to charge Tony’s skin and cause his hair to stand on end. He felt a strong pull, but from what, he had no idea. 

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

Tony blinked. For a minute he thought his father was asking him what he was going to do about the odd sensation.

“Listen, I’ll just give you your money back and let’s just forget the whole thing.”

 _“Forget…?”_ Howard jabbed his finger into Tony’s chest. “Listen, you no-good thief, I’m calling the police.”

Thunder cracked so loudly that Tony’s ears rang as he was blinded by multiple flashes of lightning. The wind picked him up and Tony shouted, “Nooo!!!” as Howard lunged at him. Tony felt himself falling over the edge of the roof as lightning lit up the world and the rain enveloped him like the deep, blue sea.

The rain was cold and drenching as Tony tried to breathe. His whole body crackled with energy but his legs were numb. Gasping, he fought to open his eyes.

“Tony…”

Tony’s vision was blurred with rain as he struggled to see who was trying to help him up. Blond hair? Steve? No, it was long hair. Thor! 

“Thor,” he rasped.

“Come, Friend Tony.”

Thor lifted him up and carried him inside out of the raging storm.

Tony sat on his living room couch in the Tower, clad in his favorite bathrobe as his hands gripped a mug of hot lemon tea. Thor sat next to him as he spoke softly.

“A piece of Heimdall’s sword was magically broken off and threw you back to the past via the storm.”

“Isn’t that your territory?”

Thor smiled. “It is, but Heimdall also has some sway. It was not a planned trip, so Time tried to fix itself.” He took a sip of his tea, one of his favorite Midgardian beverages. He had changed and was now wearing a baby-blue sweater and jeans. He was barefoot and his hair was still wet from the storm. 

“How?”

“Time at first tried to acclimate you to the past. You had no burning desire to return to your own time?” Tony shook his head. “Time was suppressing any desire to return since it did not know if it could ever return you. It worked to repair the anomaly, and eventually succeeded as it returned you to this century. You felt an urge to go up to that rooftop in the past?” Tony nodded. “Time was calling you.” Thor nodded to himself. “Now your presence will be erased from the past.”

Tony winced. “So no one back then will remember me?”

“It is unlikely, though they may have vague memories that are just out of reach, as shreds of dreams linger at the edges of one’s mind.” Thor watched Tony as he sipped his tea.

“Well, okay.” Tony stared down into his mug.

“I am sorry you were caught up in this, my friend.”

Tony smiled slightly. “It’s all right. I had an…interesting experience.”

Thor frowned. “What has been going on since I left for Asgard? These Accords…they have split up the Avengers?”

Tony sighed. “Yeah. It’s a long story.”

“I have time.” Thor stood up. “First I shall refresh our mugs.”

Tony handed over his mug. The tea _was_ getting cold. “Thanks.”

As Thor ambled to the kitchen, Tony stared out the windows at the storm. It was putting on a spectacular show. The Tower rattled as thunder rolled and lightning flashed. He watched as he thought of Steve, Bucky and Arnie. He hoped they had enough money to take the subway home from Harlem.

The loneliness stretched out before him. His hands curled into fists. Damn Ross and that crowd! Persecuting everyone who had opposed the Sokovia Accords, putting them in the _Raft,_ for gods’ sakes, like they were supervillains, not superheroes!

His blood boiled. Well, he was the rich and privileged son of his father, and he was going to throw his one percenter weight around. What good was being filthy rich if you could not help your friends? 

Tony looked down at the cell phone Steve had mailed to him, the accompanying letter tucked underneath it on the coffee table. Steve had expressed loss at their friendship and hope that it was still theirs to rekindle, and to use the phone if Tony needed help.

As the rain lashed the windows, Tony picked up the cell phone and called the preprogrammed number.

“Hi, Steve? Tony. Come on home with the team, and bring Bucky with you.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for BradyGirl_12's There Was Summer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8443069) by [taibhrigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taibhrigh/pseuds/taibhrigh)




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